In Front of God and Everybody Read Free Page B

logic.
    Now here’s something else you should know: Daddy and Mama are In Love. They went together since eighth grade, never dated anyone else, and got married the year they turned nineteen. Never in my life have I heard them contradict each other. Maybe they agree about everything. I don’t expect them to change anytime soon.
    â€œOf course, you should never open the door to a stranger,” he said to me. “But you shouldn’t just walk away when someone asks a question. Your mother and I have tried to teach you that the way other people act doesn’t make a difference in how you treat them. You could have answered through the door. And now that we know they're our neighbors, we need to make them welcome.”
    â€œRemember what Jesus said about treating others the way you want to be treated, always.” Mama added. “Do you understand?”
    â€œYes’m.”
    â€œSo you will give these St. James people a person-to-person apology tomorrow?”
    I thought my heart had already sunk, but I was wrong.
    â€œBut that woman said I had rural diseases, and she called us hillbillies, and . . . and . . .”
    I could see this wasn’t helping. I thrashed around in my head for something to tell my parents so they would understand how awful the St. Jameses were.
    â€œAnd they were cussing and took the Lord’s name in vain. And they insulted poor ole Daisy, and scared her with their loud car horn and their big mouths. You wouldn’t want me not to defend Daisy, would you, or keep listening to them take the Lord’s name in vain, would you?”
    â€œNo, honey, of course not,” Mama said. “And I admire your loyalty to Daisy, I really do. But I’m sure Daisy would want you to apologize. And God wants us to forgive others, so no more excuses.”
    Well, if insulting our dog and using the Lord’s name in vain wouldn’t change Mama’s mind, nothing would. I slumped back in my chair. The only comfort I got out of the whole situation was the sound of my sister in the kitchen, washing dishes and getting dishpan hands.

THREE

Where’s a Good Case
of Tonsillitis
When You Need One?

When I woke up the next morning, it took me a minute to figure out why I felt so depressed.
    Mama was downstairs in the kitchen, singing the hymn “Rock of Ages.” The sun shone, the birds sang. It was Myra Sue’s turn to do laundry, and since we only used the clothes dryer in the winter or when it rained, she would have to hang the wet wash on the clothesline in the backyard. It was a job she dearly hated. All things considered, I had every reason to feel blissfully happy.
    Then I remembered.
    Today was the day I had to apologize to our new neighbors, the St. Jameses. As far as I was concerned, I’d done nothing wrong. But what Mama says is Law, so I’d just have to do it, even if I turned blue and fell over dead.
    I lay there and stared up at the ceiling and wished I could suddenly get sick. Not cancer or the black plague or even the flu, understand. But a good case of tonsillitis would be helpful. If I had a sore throat, everyone would know I couldn’t talk.
    I practiced speaking in a pitiful, hoarse voice, and when Mama called me for breakfast, I dragged myself downstairs in my nightie. I left my hair uncombed and my face unwashed, hoping I looked puny. It was hard to do, let me tell you. You know as well as I do that it’s hard to look frail and sick if you’re hungry as a starving lumberjack and the aroma of bacon and eggs is filling the kitchen. Mama stood at the big, old stove in our yellow-and-white kitchen, breaking eggs into the cast-iron skillet. They sizzled as they hit the hot grease. On the counter were a bunch of canning jars filled with fresh cucumbers, and on the back stove burners were two big pots of vinegar, water, and salt simmering for pickles. The vinegar and bacon smells mixed together real nice. Mama makes the best dill