Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 11: Crookedy

Chapter 11: Crookedy

“Sheesh, somebody get that man a hankie,” Adam muttered. The corners of Kody's lips curved up ever so slightly, but he continued staring ahead at the spectacle at the front of the church. Beside Kody, Aunt Susan was nodding and “amen-ing” in unison with the rest of the congregation. She was obviously very interested in what that preacher had to say because she didn't even notice that, on her other side, Ginny was drawing in the margins of a hymnal.

Adam looked back up front, at the short, fat preacher pacing back and forth, crying as he rhythmically proclaimed that none among them were prepared for the coming Judgment. He did, in fact, have a handkerchief, which he often took out of his shirt pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow and shiny, bald head, but never to dry the tears streaming down his fat cheeks.

It was only the first week of spring and there were still patches of ice and slush lying about on the ground outside, but inside the church, it was sweltering. To Adam's right sat a rather large man and his also-rather-large wife; Adam was sure the two of them alone could have filled an entire pew. He tugged at his collar and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck, and began looking around for a clock. He couldn't ask Kody the time because though he knew he had a watch or two (or three) in his pocket, they were packed so tightly into that little pew his odds of getting to it without elbowing Aunt Susan were slim to none.

Disappointed by the lack of clocks in the church, Adam turned his attention back to the preacher. He didn't particularly disagree with anything the preacher said, it was the delivery that made him so terribly uncomfortable. Granny had insisted that he know the Bible, and he did. He'd read it cover to cover several times and he'd always gone to church with her right up until she got sick, but the sermons he had attended in Cleveland were nothing like this.

No one could say that fat little preacher up there lacked passion in his belief in a hellfire and brimstone-raining deity, and it wasn't long before the whole congregation was ablaze with the same fervor. Adam found himself growing increasingly claustrophobic. While others fell to their knees praying aloud for forgiveness, he was silently praying the service would hurry up and end.

When his prayers were finally answered, they stood and filed out of the pew, but he still had to wait on Aunt Susan to mingle with various women and little old men before they could go outside to get in that noisy truck and ride on that bumpy road across that mountain to that desolate holler. At least when all that was behind him, there was the promise of a good meal compliments of Aunt Betty, who was not really his aunt but he didn't know what else to call her.

Having greeted half the county, Aunt Susan eventually decided it was time to head back across the mountain. Once outside the church, Ginny skipped gleefully to the truck like a death-row inmate just pardoned and climbed into the back. Adam waited for Aunt Susan to slide in, but when he went to get in, his foot found one of those remaining ice patches. When he caught himself with his crutch and the door frame, he felt a distinct "pop" in his crutch shoulder.

“Oh! That was a close call,” cried Aunt Susan. "Are you OK?"

“My shoulder hurts a little, but I'll be alright.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm.” He climbed on in and shut the door, and slumped against the window like always. Kody started the truck and they began the trip across that awful mountain road. With every jarring bump, Adam's right shoulder throbbed worse than the last, but he kept it to himself.

They went straight to Aunt Betty's house, where the  smell of a pot roast drifted out the kitchen window and onto the porch, where Uncle Bill sat puffing on his pipe. He cocked his head to one side when Adam approached the front step, and said, “Son, you look a mite bit crookedy.”