Taking Care of Moses by Barbara O'Connor Page B

trying to take Moses away from this church family.
    And that’s when Mrs. Gilley yanked Jaybird and Althea up by their collars, and marched right up the aisle and out the door.
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    Later that day, Randall and Jaybird lay on the blue tarp under the Gilleys’ porch. Randall rested his head on his hands and stared up at the damp, mildewed boards above them.
    â€œDo you think your mama really means it?” he asked Jaybird.
    â€œUh-huh.” Jaybird tossed a wadded-up candy wrapper from hand to hand. “She says she ain’t never stepping
so much as a big toe in that church again. She says Preacher Ron is trying to poison our minds with lies about Miss Frieda.”
    â€œThis sure is a mess.”
    â€œYeah,” Jaybird said, “all ’cause of one stupid baby.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI wish that baby’s mama would come and take him home,” Jaybird said.
    â€œYeah.” Randall nodded. “I wish she would, too.”
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    That night, Randall crawled up under the covers with his sketchbook and flashlight. He drew a bird, but it looked funny, so he scribbled over it. He started drawing a house, but it was boring, so he erased it. Then he began to draw himself. He was good at drawing himself because he had practiced a lot, staring in the mirror as he outlined his mousy brown hair hanging down over his ears and his nose that was too big for his face. When he got to his mouth, he drew it open, like he was talking. Like maybe he was telling his secret. Then he drew a big circle coming out of his mouth, and in the circle he wrote: LAVONIA SHIRLEY.
    It felt so good to write those words that he traced over the letters two more times. Then he took a black marker and scribbled over them. Back and forth, back and forth, until all that was left was a big black blob.

    He turned off the flashlight and lay back on his pillow. He closed his eyes and whispered his prayers. After asking for all his usual stuff, Randall asked for grits and gumption.
    But when he opened his eyes, he still felt like some kind of low-lying, liver-bellied buzzard bait.

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    R andall wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be. He wanted everybody to stop taking sides and arguing and acting downright hateful. He wanted the Gilleys to sit in the sixth row on the left side at church. And he wanted his mom to sit on Mrs. Gilley’s front porch and drink iced tea and talk about kids and husbands and the best place to buy ground beef.
    But no matter how hard Randall wished for it, he couldn’t make it happen. Everybody kept arguing, the Gilleys stopped coming to church, and his mom didn’t visit Mrs. Gilley anymore.
    â€œI don’t have to sit there and listen to her and Miss Frieda talk ugly about my church,” Mrs. Mackey told Randall.
    Sometimes she would come over to the Gilleys’ to tell Randall to go home for supper. She would nod at Mrs. Gilley and say, “Evening, Lottie.”

    â€œEvening, Iris,” Mrs. Gilley would say from her rocking chair on the porch.
    â€œTime for supper, Randall,” Mrs. Mackey would say, then turn and head back up the sidewalk.
    Randall would look at Jaybird, and Jaybird would shrug. And Randall would feel awful. He missed the friendly chatter between their mothers. But more than that, he missed the Gilleys in church.
    â€œI’m glad we ain’t going there no more,” Althea said. “I hate that church.”
    â€œYou better stop saying that, Althea,” Jaybird said. “It’s bad luck to say that.”
    â€œI don’t care.”
    â€œLightning’s gonna come down and zap you right on the head.”
    â€œSo?” Althea said. “I do hate that church.” She poked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth while she colored her fingernails with a purple marker.
    â€œHow come?” Randall said.
    â€œâ€™Cause everybody at that church is stupid,” Althea said.