Tender Graces by Kathryn Magendie

dress. I stared at him. He had big shoulders and had light brown hair in a crew cut. I didn’t know what preachers were supposed to look like, but I didn’t picture them kind of handsome like that. We sat in the third bench, and I watched Momma to see what I was supposed to do. Her mouth was open a bit and she licked her Vaseline lips with her tongue. I saw her do that a lot and thought it was a secret thing girls did. She bounced around trying to get herself comfortable on the hard seat. The man beside us made a sound like he’d dived into a cold creek.
    A woman big as a piano went to play the organ. That’s when it was time to stand up and sing. After songs about bloody lambs (I almost cried about the poor little lambs), Christian soldiers, and rugged crosses, Mr. Preacher stood up and took to preachering. Micah pretend-snored, and Daddy pinched him on the knee, but smiled when he did it. Andy fell asleep on the bench, his head in Momma’s lap, not even waking up during the fist pounding. Momma looked right up at Mr. Preacher as if he was Lord of the Baptists.
    After the singing, hollering, and pounding were all over, Mr. Preacher king-stepped down the stairs. When he passed us by, he slid his eyes over to Momma, but she kept her eyes on the big cross. Another man stood up and told us to stand with our heads down in prayer. I’d never prayed before, but I gave it my best. I said, “God, please make Momma and Daddy stop hollering. I’m right tired of it.”
    I heard Micah ask, “God, why did you even make neckties if you’re so smart?”
    Andy asked, “Where’s Uncle Jesus?” He stood on the bench and looked all around. Daddy put his hand over Andy’s mouth to get him to stop calling out, “Uncle Jesus? Uncle Jeeeee-suuus!” He must’ve thought Mr. Preacher was Uncle Jesus.
    I tried to think of more things to pray about when someone said “A-men!” and then some of the men-folk took up talking, laughing, shaking hands, and calling each other Brother. The mommas pulled their kids by their sleeves. Some of the mommas looked like they sucked on lemons. I wondered if that was what church going did to a person. The daddies followed behind, holding Bibles with one hand, jingling their keys and change in their pockets with the other. Momma wouldn’t leave. She kept staring at the Cross.
    Daddy tapped his fingers on the bench. “Katie, let’s go. I’m hungry.”
    Momma ignored Daddy.
    Micah said, “I told you it was boring. And nobody even got drowned.”  His mouth looked soured—and he’d only been in church this once.
    I made sure my mouth stayed like it was by grinning real big.
    Finally, when almost everyone was gone, Momma left the pew. We followed behind her like ducks, but Momma’s tail was the only one wagging.
    At the door, Mr. Preacher shook Daddy’s hand, telling him what a fine family he had. Daddy said some Shakespeare or maybe he just said thanks, then he picked up Andy and walked outside. Mr. Preacher took my momma’s hand. “This must be your first visit among my flock, Mrs.?”
    “Carey. You can call me Katie.”
    “Katie. Yes. I’m Foster, Foster Durant.” He grinned like one of those big crocodiles on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, then said, “I hope you will see your way back to services again real soon.”
    “We’ll see.” She smiled and pulled off the glove on her right hand. “You have a lovely church; did your wife help you fix it up for Easter?” With that hand, she fiddled with the top of her dress.
    “Never cleaved to a wife.” He stared at her hand, and then looked over at me. “Is this your little girl? What a pretty thing she is—just like her mommy.” He patted the top of my head and I tried not to get the sour lemon lips. “She looks all exotical like in explorer books.”
    “This is Virginia Kate.” Momma touched my cheek.
    “Such dark eyes. You people In-jun, or Eye-talian, or something, what?”
    “I reckon you ask too many questions, Preacher