Dawn’s birth created a royal Crenshaw stir. On the drive home from the hospital, my swaddled infant swished to and fro, the prize in Heather and Toby’s tug-of-war. Kirk kept sliding me warm glances. “Thank God, you got through the delivery okay, honey,” he said so quietly only I heard him.

I knew he referred to the moment in the labor room when I’d whispered to him that I felt my heart had nearly stopped during the last contraction. I still remembered how his face, already pale, had blanched even more when he took both my hands in his and squeezed them, tears shimmering in his eyes.

“I wanna hold ‘er, Mama,” Toby wailed at yet another Heather victory.

“Why don’t you pass her up here to me, Heather?” I asked wearily, taking charge of the newborn for the remainder of the drive.

Home never looked more beautiful nor smelled more heavenly of nourishment.

“The church ladies prepared lunch today,” Kirk announced as we entered the foyer.

“Mmm.” I inhaled appreciatively. “I’m as hungry as – ”

In a flash, Heather snatched the baby from my grasp and bounded down the hall. Her door slammed, followed by a solid click. Toby’s eyes narrowed in comprehension and he flew into delayed reaction.

For the next hour, while Kirk and I enjoyed a delicious lunch, Toby banged on Heather’s door, shrieking that she relinquish her ‘hostage.’

Heather, being Heather, took her own sweet time getting acquainted with her little sis.

Coastal springtime, when azaleas in raging colors invade the lowland, provided a high for me that year. At five months, plump little Dawn’s dark thatch was irresistible to my fingers and nose. Her arrival reinstated our former sibling quota, but with Krissie’s vibrant, loving personality missing, the whole complexion of our family had shifted. Not augmented or diminished. Just different. It took some getting used to.

“Now I know why God makes women mothers in their younger years, Kaye,” I told my friend during our weekly drive-in feast of grilled chicken livers. We sat in her car, windows lowered. “Energy level, between ages eighteen and thirty-two years, sinks like a concrete-weighted Mafia hit.”

“You’re by no means older.” Kaye tch-tchded and fed Dawn – ensconced in infant seat between us – a bite of French fry, then chortled at the wrinkled little pug nose and reemergence of mushed potato.

“True,” I conceded, catching Dawn’s drooly reject in a napkin. “But some experiences propel folks past their actual years.”

I was, emotionally, infinitely older than in early 1974.

“Kaye,” I looked at her through sudden tears, “Krissie’s vacancy in my heart will always be.”

“I know.” Her steady gaze moistened.

“But now – the baby’s crooked grins and belly laughs make me smile. There are hurts to soothe and a little one’s needs that keep me too busy to think.”

My little one’s loud burp intruded upon the moment’s solemnity.

“See?” I spread my hands and we burst into laughter.

“By the way,” Kaye’s face sobered. “I’m worried about Tillie.”

Kaye confirmed what I’d noticed in recent months. “I know. There’s something not quite – right lately.”

“Exactly.”

Tillie’s exuberance had fizzled. During choir activities, she seemed somewhere else. And though she didn’t exactly avoid me, she no longer reached out. So out of character.

“I’ll give her a call,” I promised. “Right away.”

“Rick wants me to get a job.” Tillie’s voice, an octave below her usual squeaky pitch, sounded as though coming from a damaged tape. “And, Neecy – I don’t want to leave Raquel.”

“Then don’t.” My fingers gripped the receiver tighter as I sought the right words. “There are ways to get around moms working.”

“That’s what I tell Rick.”

A long silence ensued. I cautioned myself that a thin line exists between friendly concern and unsolicited advice. I must not allow passion to loosen my tongue too much. Were the Dawsons having money problems? Rick’s position with a local Southern Bell Company seemed to meet their financial needs.

“Tillie – are you okay? I mean, is your health all ri – ”

“Oh, yeah. You know me – Mighty Mouse. I bounce off the walls.” A sigh. “I don’t know – Rick says I have too much time on my hands. To think.” Her little chortle lacked its usual lilt. “Imagine – me thinking. Oh, well – I do call him at work more often than I should. But it’s usually about Raquel doing something cute or a wasp outside stings her or – ” Her voice trailed off.

The words were forced – not from the spontaneous Tillie I knew. She seemed somehow vulnerable and I knew I must not coerce Tillie to say things she did not want to say. I also knew that the most sticky situation on God’s earth is a marital conflict and the greatest fallout occurs after an outsider interferes.

“Tell you what, Tillie. Every day, I’ll pray that your and Rick’s discord be resolved.”

Tillie exhaled a palpable sigh of relief. “Thanks, Neecy.”

Months passed “Like those strobe lights,” Kirk liked to say. Events swooshed past with blinding swiftness...Dawn’s first birthday, whose party was the event of the year... Heather’s piano recital – I was always there to hold her icy hands before the performance – that left me breathless and weeping tears of pride. I fed her aspiration for a college music degree...Toby’s fascination with football and his concern that his plumpness might deter his quarterback aspirations...Moose’s ‘retirement’ from the Air Force for ‘health reasons’...Tillie was gone behind those sunken eyes, simply not there. I opened my mouth to ask questions—then closed it. Somehow, I knew she needed space. Maybe it was the way she embraced normalcy, the way her giggles masked a fragility I now glimpsed…Ed Pleasant, Callie’s Dad, passed away...Kirk’s mom’s death from a major stroke. Poor Betty...my brother Chuck’s disappointment that insulin shots remained paramount to his health and his joy that his estranged wife Teresa moved back in order to take care of him, though I suspected she was more interested in Chuck’s Social Security checks than his health.

Lord, forgive me.

Dreams of searching, at times, invaded my peace and grief would linger into the morning hours, only to dissolve when the round little angelic face smiled up at me and chubby fingers tugged at my arm. “C’mo, Mommy. Go bye-bye.”

Leaving sorrow behind, we walked together into the beautiful outdoors and marveled together at her discoveries; a tiny purple blossom peeking through fading autumn grass or a huge pine cone.

I thought back to Sarah Beauregard’s prophecy that I must not expect a Krissie lookalike. And so, I had promised the Maker that – regardless of gender or genetic pool – I would be thankful. Kirk agreed, knowing as I did that chances of a like gender/genetic blend was nil.

We did not count on God’s mysterious ways.

Dawn had appeared on the scene a tiny pink cherub. Dark thick hair did its own thing.

And then it happened.

Before our eyes, a wonder unfolded...dark hair slowly turned blonde...then curled...smokey-gray eyes turned the blue of a clear sky...pink complexion turned olive...the budding personality displayed gentleness and sensitivity...Mommy got a booboo? I kiss it, Mommy...tiny voice rising in song with perfect pitch.

Coincidence?

The Maker did exactly what folks said He wouldn’t do. Go figure. One thing emerged from all that transpired: folks cannot program the Almighty.

In fact, I’ve grown to distrust anybody who feels they have it all figured out.

“Where are you, Krissie?” I searched the school playground as children scattered. The bell was ringing...Krissie disappeared into the forest, black and white saddle oxfords flashing as she ran, blonde hair trailing...the bell clanged louder and louder....

“Neecy,” Kirk stirred beside me. “The doorbell’s ringing.”

I squinted at the bedside clock. “It’s four o’clock. Who could it be?”

Kirk sprang to his feet and grabbed his robe on his way to answer the persistent summons. Presently, I heard the door open and low voices that rose and fell with emotion. I crept from bed and moved to the door to hear better. A man’s voice... familiar...weeping.

A man weeping. What’s wrong? Yet – I dared not intrude. Confidentiality was paramount to trust in the pastor-flock relationship. Frequently, the troubled party sought nurturing from both pastor and wife. Other times, pastor’s wife was succinctly excluded. It was not my decision.

I quietly closed the door and crawled back into my warm bed.

Next time my lids cracked, sunlight lay over the soft green bedspread and wrapped my hand. I looked at the pillow beside me, whose head-indention declared Kirk’s absence. Then I remembered the early a.m. mystery visitor. I yawned, stretched and remembered, too, that this was Saturday.

I smelled coffee as I spanned the hallway, glimpsing Heather’s belly-down form sprawled on her bed, then Toby’s rapt focus as, in the den, he watched Scooby-Doo. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked, gaze never veering from the screen.

“I don’t know.” I moved Toby’s cereal bowl from coffee table to sink and washed it, then poured myself a cup of coffee. As I searched in the fridge for milk, the back door opened.

It was Kirk, as haggard and exhausted as I’d ever seen him.

“Bad, huh?” I poured him a cup of coffee as he sank into the chair opposite mine. I purposefully didn’t probe, knowing he’d talk if it was appropriate.

Kirk took a long drink. Kirk drinks, I sip. I waited. “Want some breakfast?”

“No. Thanks.” He stared at his cup, still nestled between big hands. Suddenly, he looked at me, a look that pierced straight to my heart. “Rick Dawson came by this morning.”

“It was him?” Dread swamped me.

“He – ” Kirk shifted tiredly and set his cup down. “Tillie caught him with another woman.”

“Oh, my – God help us!” Tears gathered. Poor Tillie. No wonder she’d –

“Let’s go in the living room,” Kirk suggested, casting a glance at Toby, who remained transfixed, chuckling suddenly at Scooby-Doo’s cowardly capers.

We settled on the couch. My hand went to my bosom, where my heart thruumped a heavy syncopated cadence. “Oh, Kirk. Say it isn’t so.”

His face was grave. “I’m afraid it is, honey. Rick told Tillie he was going out of town on business. She went along with his story, apparently aware of something. Anyway – he met this woman at the Star Motel in Charleston. They were in bed together and Tillie walked in on them.”

“Dear Lord.” I wiped tears from my cheeks and snuffled. “How did she get in? I mean – ”

“She apparently told the clerk she was to join her husband, who was in room 101, and she wanted to surprise him.”

“How did she track him down?” I was gaining a new respect for Tillie’s intellect.

“She’d found a match packet from that motel in one of Rick’s shirt pockets. Seems that was their meeting place when this woman came into town.”

“Where did he meet her?” I groped for the Kleenex box on the end table.

“On a Charleston job. She works in one of the sales offices there. Rick installed phones there when they first opened.”

“That far back, huh?”

“Couple of years.”

“It gets worse.” I shivered and hugged myself. “Why were you – where did you go?”

“Rick asked me to go talk to Tillie. He’s devastated that she’s so – shredded by the whole thing. He wants her back.”

I looked at Kirk. Astounded. “Oh, really?”

Kirk ignored my sarcasm. “Well – you’ve got to realize a crisis like this many times yanks a person back to reality. Rick’s been living ina – fantasy world, his own words, for all this time. Seeing Tillie’s face when she rushed in to find them together... well, it’s tearing him up.”

“No joke,” I said flatly and crossed my arms, wanting to beat up on Rick.

Kirk sighed. “That’s not like you, honey.” It was sad, the statement.

“I know.” I blinked back tears. “Give me a little time, huh? It’s just – Tillie adores him. Rick could do no wrong. And now – what’s she going to do, Kirk?”

“I went over to talk with her. Rick was with me. She barely looked at me. Or him. She just looked – dead. I’m truly concerned about her, Neecy. I tried to help her see that it is possible to forgive and go on. That Rick wants – needs her forgiveness. He cried and pleaded with her to not leave him. Said he’d make it up to her if she’d just give him a chance. I’ve never seen a man more desperate.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing much. When I left, Rick was still pleading with her for mercy.” He looked at me then and I saw the misery in the green depths, the caring, the helplessness. I slid over, put my arms around him and drew his head down to rest on my shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Kirk Crenshaw.”

Toby stuck his head in the door. “What’s for lunch, Mom?”

A familiar gray Chevrolet sat in our drive as we drove in. Our family had eaten an early dinner at Bessingers, needing that time together. A pall jaded the day for Kirk and me, one we’d tried to hide from Heather and Toby. Somehow, we’d succeeded.

Until now. I drew in my breath and watched Zelda and Alton Diggers emerge from their car. “Go in the house,” I told Heather and Toby as Kirk braked the car then got out.

“Why?” Toby gazed at the Diggers, knowing them to be church folks and wanting to socialize with Tillie’s parents who, to Toby, had to be nice if related to his pal.

“Because I said so.” I spoke more sharply than intended. But I’d seen Zelda’s ‘planted’ stance, which, according to Tillie, meant ‘ready for war.’ But then, for Zelda, that was normal. I decided that I’d best serve Kirk by getting our children out of hearing range so I shooed them quickly inside. Heather looked pompously over her shoulder at me, as in “back off.” But she didn’t say anything. That, I could handle.

I got busy fluffing cushions and emptying the dishwasher. From the bedroom window, I spied the intense palaver… Zelda’s hands-on-hip stance, her red face, Alton’s silent stiffness –

Poor Kirk. Despite his composed features, I spied the bleakness underlying them.

Please...please make her shut up. I hurried back to the kitchen so he wouldn’t think I was eavesdropping. The front door opened and closed quietly. His footsteps, usually a crisp clicking stride, now sloughed. I turned from the sink. He sank – literally – against the doorjamb. Hands dangled limply at his sides. And his face – like an animal shot between the eyes, ready to fall.

“Kirk?” I moved to him. “What happened?”

He blinked then cleared his throat. “They said I was of the Devil.” Pain flickered in his eyes. “Said I told Tillie to ignore Rick’s philandering ways. She’s twisting my words.”

“What?” My mouth dropped open. Then closed in a tight line. “How dare they!”

That seemed to spark a little life into him. He straightened and moved to sit on the living room sofa. I followed him. “Zelda said I should be shot for telling Tillie to forgive that – I won’t repeat what she called Rick. Said a decent man would’ve sympathized with Tillie, not tried to talk her into staying with an adulterer and fornicator.”

I plopped down beside him. “Oh, Kirk.”

He sighed deeply, his eyes unseeing. Sad. “I tried to tell them that God’s word instructs us to forgive.” His shoulders shrugged. “Else – how can God forgive us?”

“That’s what He says,” I agreed. I wanted to take him into my arms to soothe and heal but knew not to. Not yet. Hurt ran too deep for him to receive my comfort. Kirk battled alone. Oh, he wanted me there. Heard my soothing words. And I knew they helped. Some. But in the arena, he did his own hand-to-hand combat. Since childhood, this was so.

At times, Kirk didn’t even seem to trust the Almighty to handle his fights.

Immediately, I pushed away those traitorous thoughts.

The phone rang and I went to answer. It was Rick.

Kirk took the phone from me. “Yes, Rick. They were here.” A long silence. “No – I haven’t heard from Tillie. Zelda says she and Raquel are staying with them for the time being.”

Another long silence, then, “I certainly will. And Rick – hang in there. I’ll be praying for you, okay? Yeah – sure thing. Bye.”

I took the phone from his limp hand and hung it up.

He stared out the window, elbows on the kitchen table, fingers steepled to his mouth. I poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat opposite him to sip my iced tea.

I saw desolation slowly seep away. “I know what the Bible says about love,” Kirk spoke to himself, as well as to me. This was his recovery time. “Zelda’s opinion of what decency is is beside the point. I have to check against what God’s word says. And it says a marriage not only can but should be able to withstand outside attacks against it.”

“Kirk, your advice was right on target. Most people want to hear that their marriage can be saved.” I watched him relax more by the moment. His denial strength began to kick in.

I was beginning to suspect that denial and faith could overlap.

“Anyway,” I reached for his hand and squeezed it, “Zelda’s well known around here for her harsh nature.” I grinned. “Rivaled only by the infamous Sarah Beauregard.”

Kirk’s smile started in his eyes and spread to his entire face. “Yeah. Nobody’s going to listen to either of those two busybodies.”

“Can I hold Dawnie, ple-ease Mrs. Crenshaw?” Twelve-year-old Cindy Stone held out her hands to Dawn, who sat astride my hip, decked out in her new blue calico dress and bonnet. We wore matching outfits for the annual Old-Fashioned Sunday. I stood on Solomon Methodist’s white-columned portico, reluctant to join the folks milling about the lush church grounds. I recalled last years’ warm, friendly atmosphere. A real family feeling.

Today, it was a family thing again – only this time, I was not family. In recent weeks, folks had begun to distance themselves from the Crenshaws. Subtle things. Averted eyes. Pretending not to hear when I spoke. Kirk had, characteristically, tuned it out. Today, the coldness was a tangible thing, leaving me limp with confusion.

Callie had summed it up. “Zelda’s doings. She’s an expert at twisting words and throwing them back at you entirely different than they started out. She’s managed to get most of her part of the clan to believe Kirk’s morals are so loose he’s giving out immoral advice. Hey, you and I both know this crazy redneck mentality on ‘sticking together.’”

“Yeah,” I’d agreed. “As MawMaw’s old radio song goes, Slap ‘er down agin’, Maw… Slap ‘er down agin, We don’t want our neighbors talkin’ bout our kin.”

I hated to think church folks could believe such nonsense, but when it came to loyalties – especially at Solomon Methodist – kin stuck together. Oh, there were a few exceptions but not enough to deflect considerable damage when someone like Zelda set her bead.

Today, the clan’s coldness was a grim statement to that effect.

“Please?” Cindy persisted, her eyes twinkling at Dawnie, who leaned toward her, reaching.

“Sure,” I smiled and handed her over. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cindy’s mom Lucille Stone come out of the vestibule.

“Mama!” Joannie rushed to her mother. “Isn’t she cute?” She proudly thrust out her blonde, bonneted prize. “Here! Wanna hold her?”

I folded my hands and held my breath. Red-haired Lucille’s chin rose two, three notches and her nostrils flared as though smelling something foul. Her pale nutmeg gaze flickered from Dawnie to me and back, not lighting on either, like an angry cornered animal ready to snarl.

“Mama?” Cindy looked bewildered. “Don’t you wanna hold her?”

Lucille’s russet head did a brisk, negative nod and she was gone in a heartbeat. I watched her march to join her Clemmons kin clustered around Homer Clemmons’ horse and wagon. First cousins of Zelda Diggers, most of them.

Her daughter stared after her with the same befuddlement I felt inside.

“Cindy,” I forced a smile. “I think I’ll take Dawnie home for a nap.”

“Aww,” Cindy reluctantly relinquished her little friend. “Bye, Dawnie.”

“Janeece,” Kaye Tessner caught me as I turned to leave. “Where you going? It’s time to eat.”

“I – ” I swallowed back the bubble of hurt and forced a wide smile. “Dawn’s tired. I’m going to lay her down for her nap at the house.” I turned and hightailed it home, feeling Kaye staring after me.

“Want me to fix you a plate?” she called.

Sweet Kaye…but I shouldn’t vent to her. She was, by marriage, of the kinship. It wouldn’t be fair to drag her in.

“No,” I hollered back and kept walking.

Inside the parsonage, I tried to swallow the enormous, heavy weight lodged in my chest, wishing Callie were here today. She’d gone to visit her mother. Mollie’s health had suffered since Ed’s fatal heart attack and Callie liked to check on her every three to four weeks.

I put Dawn into her crib, went into my bedroom and closed the door. Only then did I allow the tears to fall. Recent snubs and slights rushed and swarmed me like killer bees, beating and stinging me into incoherent sobs and spasms of grief. I’d suppressed them, the memories...cold, disdainful faces freezing me on my Sunday morning processional from pulpit entrance to choir platform... mocking, cruel smirks when I faced the congregation to sing choir solos...my greeting smile freezing as backs turned to me....

I’d ignored the meanness toward me. Today, the ugly thing loosed itself upon my baby. How could I ignore that?

An innocent baby.

I can’t pull Kirk down by complaining. “It’ll pass,” he’d say. Would it?

I wept until I heard the last of the mules and wagons pull out. Until the late afternoon sun began to fade. Still, I wept.

“Janeece?” I heard Kirk call out as he came in.

I snuffled soundly then pretended sleep.

Tillie missed choir practice the next five Thursday nights. I’d caught on that Zelda Diggers’ ill will toward Kirk extended to me when I called her house and asked to speak to Tillie. She hung up on me. So, I kept praying Tillie would contact me.

It was on the sixth Thursday night of Tillie’s absence that Moose staggered into the choir loft’s back row and plopped down, looking like a fugitive from Hell. He’d been looking less than swooft for months, since he’d chosen to not re-up in the Air Force, but tonight, his glassy-eyed gauntness alarmed me. I’d been so engrossed with Tillie’s dilemma I’d missed Moose’s swift decline. I knew he’d taken morning and evening jobs to make ends meet. He’d had to miss some practices and Sunday services because of revolving work schedules. I rushed over to him and whispered, “Moose, what’s wrong?”

He looked at me as if I had two noses. “Nothin’.”

Callie moved to stand beside me, scowling at him. “You look ghastly,” she whispered.

He reared back and gave her a mock glare. “Thanks a lot, Cal.”

“Anytime, pal.” Callie gave him an in-depth, slant-eyed assessment. “Sshheezz.”

I touched his shoulder, keeping my voice down as others filed into the loft, laughing and talking. Thank God the choir, so far, did not seem affected by the cold war fallout. And despite Tillie’s no-shows, I wasn’t convinced her heart had changed toward me.

“Ahh, Moose. I know you’re working your tail off at two jobs, trying to make ends meet. But – ”

“Three.” Moose’s thick fingers inserted themselves between us.

“You’re crazy, Moose,” Callie snorted. “You got a death wish or somethin’?”

“Roxie needs things, Cal – ” He suddenly switched to address me, seeing Callie’s lack of sympathy for Roxie. “You know, like clothes and new shoes.” His eyes half-mooned suddenly. “Woman’s gotta be pampered some, Neecy. That apartment we live in is a real dump and I need to – ”

Callie’s disgusted snort signaled her retreat and I noticed everybody heading for their appointed seats.

“I know.” I patted Moose’s arm and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Please, just take care of yourself. Okay?”

“Shore, Neecy.” The eyes dissolved behind his grin and he reached up to pat my hand on his shoulder. “You know me. Strong as a danged moose.”

I went to the podium, fighting my disgust with Roxie’s demands. I arranged my music, silently miming Kirk’s brushaside manner, his “that’s Moose’s problem. He’s gotta decide things for himself.” But, for me, they were only words. I closed my eyes for a long moment, struggling for composure. Tillie... Moose...rejection...everything crashing, crashing, crushing my spirit as one would a roach bug.

Tears gathered behind my closed lids and I heard the silence settle in. Felt the curiosity. Or was it concern? At this point, I didn’t know. Did it matter?

Pray. The command was succinct.

“Stand, please.” My steady voice belied the inner turmoil. “Charlie, lead us in prayer, please.” I reminded myself that Kaye’s spouse – of the clan – remained loyal to me. Others, perhaps a third, of the clan did as well. But the scowling, palpating disapproval of those dissenting ones served to erode joy and spontaneity.

Charlie Tessner rose. “Lord...please meet us at the point of our need tonight. And – especially endow Janeece with an extra portion of strength because you know how much her work here blesses us and all those around. Thank you. Amen.”

“...especially endow Janeece....”

I opened my eyes and smiled, buoyed for the moment.

For now, that was enough. “Let us begin....”

Our family’s weekly Saturday night eat-out at Bessinger’s BBQ Restaurant now included Callie, Moose and Roxie. After Moose’s choir loft admission that he felt pressure to pamper Roxie, Callie barely concealed her disgust for ��Sweet Thang.”

“Need to go?” I politely asked Roxie as Cal and I excused ourselves from the table.

“Huh uh,” she droned and leaned her face into her hands to hang on to every word of Kirk’s funny golf stories. That she managed to always seat herself beside him was funny to me. Not to Callie, whose eyebrows shot up higher each time Roxie plunked herself next to my husband. I’d teased Kirk about her little crush at first. But he always looked disappointed in me, saying Roxie was simply childlike and anyway, she loved Moose. That statement, at times, strained my imagination, but I always repented and gave her the benefit of a doubt.

Actually, I had to admit Roxie had changed. Compared to earlier courtship times, she now seemed to, at least, acknowledge Moose.

“She’s changed, Cal,” I insisted, yet not fully believing it myself.

“She’s a slut, Neecy. Moose deserves better.”

“Cal, you’re gonna have to hide your feelings more,” I gently coaxed as we made our way to the ladies’ room.

“I can’t help it,” Callie hissed. “She’s a—a…”

“Don’t say it. Please, Cal, try to keep peace.” The bathroom was occupied so we stood outside the door, waiting. “You know how bad things are for us right now anyway – what with Zelda’s grievances and all.”

Callie’s ebony eyes flashed fire. “That woman’s an old biddy. And you know I could say worse. Lots and lots worse.”

I laughed and gave her rigid, crossed arms a playful smack. “Do I ever know how charitable that term is? From you, who at one time could have turned this air blue.”

“Darned right.” Callie raised her chin and stared at the wall as though she wanted to take it apart.

I gently elbowed her in the ribs. “Know what you and I used to say, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never harm me,” I singsonged to lighten her up.

Her frown loosened and her lips curled up at the corners. “Yeah. You’re right.”

An elderly lady emerged from the enclosure, smiled at me and washed her hands.

Callie went into the stall and I felt relief that I’d humored her into letting go of anger.

Now, I just had to convince me.

That Christmas, Dad, Anne and the kids drove down to spend the holidays with us.

“To play with Punkin’,” Dad cooed at Dawn, who climbed all over him, lavishing him with hugs and wet kisses and tugging him hither and yon to explore all her domain. He loved it.

Anne got, quote, ‘leftovers.’ She giggled and gooched Dawn into hysteria every chance she got. Trish and Gene came down the day after Christmas to spend a couple of days.

“When are you going to have us one?” Daddy kidded his baby girl. Trish didn’t laugh, hadn’t for a long time. Daddy sobered and hugged her tightly. “Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Trish kissed his cheek. “I’m used to it. Gene’s family is merciless with their jokes.” She shrugged and mugged. “I’m doing all I kin, but it jus’ ain’t working, ya’ll. Anyway,” she did a funny clown’s waddle across the room to pull Dawn from Anne’s lap, “I gots my own baby ri’chere!”

Dawn giggled and scrooched up to Trish, enjoying every little squeeze and smooch.

“C’mon, Lynnette,” Toby called on his way to the back door, “let’s go ride bikes.”

My sister rose from my lap, where she still occasionally sat, even though her feet now touched the floor. Our affection remained spontaneous and relaxed.

“Coats!” I called, because though milder than upstate, lowland weather still chilled.

“You get more handsome every time I see you, Cole.” I patted the vacant seat beside me on the den sofa. “Come sit next to a good-looking woman.” He grinned and planted himself next to me. Heather soon plunked down beside him.

Dale, now fourteen, sat on my other side and browsed through photo albums, pausing at Krissie’s pictures. He did this every time he came. Afterward, he would hold my hand for long spells as the entire clan talked back and forth, carrying on several conversations simultaneously.

Sometime during the afternoon, the front doorbell rang. Anne answered it. “It’s Moose”.

“Tell him to come in and join us,” I called.

“He wants to talk to Kirk.”

Kirk went outside just as we all gathered around the piano. Heather played and we sang everything we knew from Oh Bury Me Not On the Lone Prairie to Dawnie’s current favorite Itsy Bitsy Spider. Then Toby and Lynette came in with red noses and cheeks that had them looking like painted wooden nutcracker soldiers.

“Do Delta Dawn!” Toby requested. Heather immediately modulated into the country tune and while we adults fumbled our way through the unfamiliar lyrics, the younger ones nailed every word, grinning ear-to-ear with shameless pride. The next tune, Sentimental Journey, provided payback time. Daddy’s rich baritone gave life to the melody, with Heather and Cole’s alto and mine and Trish’s second- oprano smoothly blending into a passable imitation of the 40’s Modernaires.

“Sing something we can sing, too,” Toby whined after we finished.

“Yeah,” Lynette chimed in.

After a mad, Three-Stooges’ huddle, we plunged into a rousing rendition of You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog that would’ve done Elvis proud. Halfway through, the phone rang.

I rushed to answer it.

“Chuck! It’s so – so good to hear your voice.”

“What’s all that racket there?”

I laughed. “Us. The whole family’s here. Except you.”

“Except me, huh?”

“Yeh.” Long moments passed as the rock’n roll beat wound down. “We miss you, you know.”

“Yeh? Well, I’d a come if I’d been able, Neecy. I mean that.”

“Kidney infection no better?”

“Nah. But you can’t keep a good man down long, ain’t that right, Teresa?” He laughed and I heard Teresa’s low response in the background.

“How is Teresa?” I asked out of politeness.

“She’s doin’ great. Come’ere, Teresa, Neecy wants to say ‘hey’ to you.”

I clenched my teeth, knowing in my gut she wouldn’t give Chuck – or me – the satisfaction. His hand muffled the mouthpiece, then, “Ahh – she’s frying steak and can’t leave it but says to say ‘hey’ to everybody.”

“Sure will. How’s Poogie?” He put adolescent Poogie on the line, who, in turn, awkwardly shifted the brunt of conversation to me. A sweet girl, Poogie knew little of us and I felt her uncertainty. “Love you, Poogie,” I said from my heart.

“Me, too.” Muffled mouthpiece. “Here’s Daddy.”

“Chuck? Wouldn’t you like to speak to Daddy?”

“Mmm-nah. That’s okay. He sounds busy.”

“He won’t mind.” I turned to get Dad’s attention. “Da – ”

“Don’t interrupt him, Sis. Let ‘im sing. I’ll be going now, hear? Give everybody my love.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling disappointment. Why? “I will. And Chuck – take care of yourself. Bye.”

“Who was that, Mama?” Heather asked over her shoulder as she pulled a southern gospel hymnbook from a pile of music. I knew she wanted to hear from Ralph Stevens, a boy she’d recently begun to like.

“It was Chuck.” I saw her eyes cloud, then Dad’s face fall. I added quickly, “He said give everybody his love. He’s not well.”

I went on to explain Chuck’s kidney crisis, seeing Dad’s hurt turn to alarm.”I wish he’d call and let us know what’s going on,” Dad murmured, but absent was the characteristic anger.

I didn’t know which was worse, seeing him angry or worried. I quickly decided worried was better.

“He’ll be okay,” I insisted, “You know Chuck. Strong as an ox, to hear him tell it.”

Dad’s face relaxed a mite. “Yeh. That kind of attitude carries folks a long way toward healing.” He thumbed through the songbook, pressed back the pages and set it on the piano. “Heather, let’s do this one. You sing alto, Trish, and you do second soprano, Neecy. Rest of you do what you want to.”

“C’mon, help us out, Anne,” I coaxed, knowing she wouldn’t.

“I’ll just listen and hum along.” Dawnie, having gone full circle, crawled into her lap again. Anne’s voice was wonderful for lulling babies. Period.

“Anne and I’ll pay ya’ll back in Heaven,” Kirk liked to say. “I believe we who can’t carry a tune here will be soloists up there.” Actually, Kirk’s voice wasn’t bad when bolstered by others around him.

I wondered again what was taking Kirk so long outside. He and Moose must have gone out to the church office to talk. What was too urgent that it couldn’t wait until we didn’t have company?

After Each Step I Take, Mansion On the Hilltop and Wait till You See Me In My New Home, we declared ourselves starved and raided the leftovers, lowland chicken bog, pork barbecue, baked beans, coleslaw, potato salad and Anne’s special macaroni pie.

“Don’t you want to wait on Kirk?” Anne asked as we started to be seated.

“Sit down.” I laughed. “If I waited on Kirk to get away from pastoral duties, I’m afraid we’d go hungry half the time. By the way, Heather made the Mississippi mud cake.”

“Yeh, Heather!” They applauded and she rose and took a bow. From across the table, her eyes twinkled to me a silent message of love.

My heart swelled with gratitude.

Life, I thought, doesn’t get any better than this.

The parsonage was dark and silent when Kirk finally came in. He quietly undressed and slipped into his side of the bed.

“Honey?” I turned to him. “Is something wrong?”

I couldn’t see his face in the dark as he lay facing me. Only shadows. The silence stretched out. “Kirk?”

“No.” The word was clipped. Underlined with tension. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is Moose – okay?”

Kirk gave a long shuddering sigh. “Moose spoke to me in confidence.”

“Okay.” That was that. Kirk’s pastoral confidences were sacred.

“It’s – nothing to worry about…” He turned his back to me, then reached back to pat me. “Go to sleep.”

Deep, deep inside I knew.

Kirk had not told me the truth.

The afterglow of my family’s visit poofed within a day of their leave-taking. Tillie Dawson was hospitalized with an overdose of valium and though Kirk was not barred from Tillie’s hospital room, Zelda, who treated him like the lowest form of vermin, distinctly discouraged any ministrations from him.

On second thought, make that next to the lowest form – that, Zelda reserved for son-in-law Rick.

I know because I was there, having insisted upon tagging along to catch a glimpse of my friend. The room was empty when we arrived so we made our way to her bedside. My heart lurched when I saw her, a sheet-draped skeleton more dead than alive, whose eyes sunk like dark caves in the small face. What lingered of the vibrant girl I’d known wouldn’t cast a shadow beneath a bright afternoon sun.

I crouched behind Kirk when Zelda came bounding into the room. “She’s asleep. Not s’posed to be disturbed.”

“Mama?” The apparition on the bed stirred the tiniest bit. “Please....”

“What is it, honey?” Zelda rushed to the bedside and hovered.

Tillie’s little mouth worked to emit sound. Her lids cracked to reveal mere slivers of white.

“See?” Zelda cast a glower at Kirk. And for once, I was glad she didn’t consider me significant enough to acknowledge. “She’s not up to company.”

A frail, pale hand slowly trembled its way from the white sheet folds to clutch Zelda’s arm. “I need – prayer,” Tillie whispered.

“But, sugar,” Zelda gripped the skinny fingers, “I don’t th – ”

Kirk’s stubbornness kicked in and he stepped up beside Zelda and leaned to speak to Tillie. “Of course, we’ll pray with you, Tillie.” He turned to me. “Join us, Janeece.” His courage transferred itself to me as we joined hands and took hold of Tillie’s limp, icy ones. Kirk tossed Zelda a brief ‘join us?’ glance and, when she did not respond, proceeded.

Rick walked in on the amen. Zelda glared at him.

“She’s my wife, Zelda.” Rick shook hands with Kirk, hugged me and planted himself next to Tillie’s bed, all in a matter of seconds.

Zelda lumbered to his side and leaned nearly nose to nose with him. “Not for much longer if I can help it.” Her voice reminded me of Ma Kettle in her most mettlesome moments.

Rick’s gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t you think that’s for Tillie to decide, Zelda?” he asked quietly.

Zelda snorted and gestured toward the bed. “Now, don’t she look like she’s fit to make any kind of decision?”

“Mama,” Tillie struggled to speak. “Don’t....”

“Okay, honey-bun.” Zelda’s big hand roughly patted the prone skeleton. I winced. “Mama won’t let him harass you. Now you git out, Rick Dawson.”

“Let’s go, Neecy,” Kirk took my arm, his features closed. But I saw the flare of his nostrils, the barest revelation that he’d like to stuff Zelda’s mouth with dirty socks. “Hang in there, Rick.” His nod to Zelda was terse. “Good day, Zelda.”

As we left, we heard Rick’s quiet response.

“Now, you can like it or lump it, Zelda. I don’t care. But I’m not leaving my wife.”

Three days later, my phone rang. It was Tillie.

“I’ve missed you, Neecy.” Her voice was reed thin, like a weak kitten’s meow.

“Oh, Tillie, you just don’t know how I’ve wanted to see you and help you....”

“I know.” A long sigh. “Neecy, I told Rick to bring me home from the hospital. Mama’s pitching a fit, but I don’t care. Well – I do... but she’s just gotta get over it.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I swiped at them. “You okay, Tillie? I mean – the last time I saw you, you looked like death warmed over.”

“I’m getting there, Neecy. I just lost it there for awhile. Always said I’d never be able to live with an unfaithful man.” She huffed a little hoarse laugh, then burst into tears. “I-I didn’t know how hard it is to stop loving, Neecy, till – ”

“Listen, Tillie. All that stuff’s past now. I’m proud that you’ve decided to hold your marriage together.”

Tillie snuffled. “I just wanted to say thanks. Yours and Kirk’s hospital visit – and prayer – was a real turning point for me. I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks, Tillie. Now, you just get yourself well and get back to singing, darlin’. The choir jus’ ain’t the same without you. Y’hear?”

Tillie giggled. “I hear you, girl.” My heart soared.

“Thanks for the coffee, Neecy,” Cal kissed my cheek, “I gotta run. Promised Mama I’d call her.”

“Call her here.”

“Naw. I need to shampoo my hair anyway.”

After she left, I checked on Dawnie, who’d fallen asleep playing, using her ‘bankie’ as a pillow on her carpeted floor. I lay her in her bed, covered and kissed her and returned to the den, where Toby’s cartoons blasted away.

“Toby? Would you listen for Dawn while I take a short walk?”

“Sure, Mom.”

I strolled to the cemetery, knowing I would find Heather there.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said softly. She looked up at me from her little plaid pallet beneath the oak and lay her book aside. She smiled and it took my breath, for it was both sweet and sad. Auburn silk framed the lovely face that had seen too much – too soon.

“Sit with me, Mama.” She patted a spot and I joined her. We gazed at each other in wordless affection.

“You know, Heather,” I said gently, “we have our share of mother-daughter climaxes. But – times like this makes me think of porpoises who bump folks along from one threat to another, keeping them afloat.” I took her hand. “These sweet moments are like that. They rescue us from deep, troubled water...keep us focused on what’s important.” I squeezed her hand. “What’s important is that we love each other.”

“Oh, Mama,” suddenly, she crumpled into tears. Heather, who seldom cried.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I don’t understand, Mama.” She gazed at me imploringly. “I know Ralph likes me,” tears riveted her cheeks. “But his family has heard so much ugly gossip about us. Darn that nasty old Zelda and her big mouth. They – Ralph’s family – just can’t believe we’re what we are. They don’t approve of him dating me.”

“Ohh, baby.” My heart lurched. How could they? The Stevens family didn’t even know us personally. They attended the Episcopal Church in town and had only heard the mudslinging stuff via the gossip channel. And the stuff was mainly innuendoes.

“It’s n-not fair, Mama! We haven’t done anything wrong. Know what they said about Dad? Steve told me they said Daddy is a Bible-thumping, jack-leg preacher from the backwoods.” She drew her knees up, buried her head on them and bawled like little Dawn.

Anger machine-gunned through me. What lies. What malicious vilification. And from so-called Christians, in whose hands Kirk, at one time, would have entrusted his life. Kirk’s sermons had changed in recent months. How could he bury a child and not change? But Bible-thumping, backwoods preacher? No. Since Krissie’s death, his speaking had become more eloquent. If anything, it had prompted more soul-searching.

Was that the sore spot? Had Kirk’s mellowed entreaties offended some traditional, stiff-necked parishioners who didn’t want to be blown from their comfort zone? But wasn’t that what sermons were supposed to do? To instruct and challenge and exhort? If not, why even have church?

I rubbed Heather’s shoulder, feeling as helpless as I’d ever felt in my life.

When the wails subsided, I held her in my arms. “I know it’s tough, baby.” Why do my children have to get hurt? “But try to remember what Ephesians 6:12 tells us...we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness....’

“In other words,” Heather gazed at me with red swollen eyes, “the Devil.”

“Exactly. We just have to remind ourselves from time to time what it’s all about.”

She furrowed her head against my shoulder. “I know.” A long silence. “Thanks, Mama.”

“Mama!” Toby called from the distant parsonage backdoor. “Dawn’s awake!”

I sighed and stirred but Heather said, “He’ll be okay with her for a few minutes.”

Toby yelled again. “Ma-a-ma! She’s pooped!”

Heather burst into giggles and stood. “C’mon, Mama.” She took my hand and hoisted me up. “We’d better go rescue the little wimp.”

Moose came by that afternoon to visit. Alone. I washed dishes at the sink, giving him and Kirk time to themselves. In the open kitchen-den area, I heard snatches of their quiet conversation. Moose mentioned Roxanne getting off from work soon – she’d taken a job at the Seven-Eleven, insisting that despite Moose’s sometimes triple-shift jobs, they still didn’t have enough money to make ends meet. I couldn’t quite figure out what ends meant in her vocabulary, but I suspected it had to do with her ends of the earth demands for costly things.

When he departed, I hugged him at the door and noticed he seemed inordinately preoccupied. “How’d you get off this afternoon?” I asked.

He shrugged and looked away. “Told ‘em I was sick. No other way.” He left then, without another word.

“What’s going on?” I asked Kirk, who’d disappeared behind the newspaper.

“What do you mean?” he asked brusquely, lowering the paper and pinning me with a look I’d not seen in a long time. For years, in fact. His back off one, reserved for last ditch offensive maneuvers.

“Oh,” I shrugged, “everybody seems so – ”

“Drop it, Neecy.” Up came the paper. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

The warmth – lingering from my time with Heather – evaporated, replaced by socked-in-the-stomach indignation. “I – ” I took a deep breath, weighed my odds of coming out unscathed, then clamped my lips together. I went back to work, determined that it wasn’t that important, whatever transpired. Nor were his condescending words.

I banged dishes as I emptied the dishwasher, furiously wiped counters and vacuumed the carpet.

Kirk’s attack on my intellect wasn’t important enough to get upset over.

It wasn’t.

Moose looked fine that Thursday night at choir practice. In fact, he and Kirk spent some time in the pastoral office that afternoon. So, I relaxed.

Kirk, however, remained untalkative. He functioned well enough that no one, outside me, noticed. I’d shared Heather’s angst about the gossip with him and thought perhaps that might have brought on this contemplative lapse. When I probed, he remained adamant that he was fine.

“Quit worrying, Neecy. I’ve just got some things on my mind. No big deal.”

Recognizing the bite in his tone, I did the only thing I could. I backed off.

I returned to college. Sweet Mrs. Autry, white-haired little widow whose only son and family were of our flock, was ecstatic to baby-sit Dawn. She devoted those days to enjoying my child as though she, herself, had spawned her.

Weeks passed, then months. Thanksgiving, Christmas flew by, a time when Chuck’s gaunt, skinny appearance shocked me speechless, then sent me scurrying for cover to cry my eyes out. His bravado and distancing from Daddy never wavered. Too soon, family departed...Azaleas painted the world vivid... faded...then died.

College graduation came and went with the usual family fanfare. I framed my Fine Arts Degree and hung it on my den wall, where it remained, only occasionally reminding me of my desperate quest to justify my existence.

Once, the framed certificate would have been my life’s summit, one from which I evolved into an illustrious teacher, then significant human being, in that order. Once. Eons ago.

Before I realized I would trade all I was and am for just one day with Krissie. Before I regarded my children my most notable accomplishment in this crazy thing called life.

That realization altered the yardstick thing with me. I no longer felt I had to go out into the world to prove anything to Kirk. Or to myself. My roots belonged in the home.

The gossip wilted. Heather began to see Ralph Stevens, whose parents finally relented that, just perhaps, the defamation of the Methodist pastor had been unjustified. Ralph was a nice boy whose ambition was to become a medical doctor, like his father, the town’s general practitioner. Some of the church folk grew warmer toward the Crenshaw family. Others did not.

I welcomed the truce – such as it was.

Because one thing was certain: none of the clan would ever leave Solomon Methodist Church.

Any adjustments would be ours.