Nobody's Child Read Free

elderly preacher hesitated at the yard gate and shot a glance back at Auntie Rose, motioning with his head toward the automobile. A clear message, but Auntie Rose stood her ground.
    Preacher Armstrong’s iron gaze melted for a moment, confronted by her disobedience, but then he set his hands on his hips and spoke a second time.
    â€œIt’s time to go, Rose,” he commanded. His own wife nudged him with a loud huff, and then headed for the sedan where Jackstood, door open to the rear seat. Preacher stood alone a moment longer, eyes on Auntie Rose and shaking his head, then retreated to the car.
    Pamela Culpeper approached Laura Ann, extending a hand in fellowship. “Ed and I can be reached any time. You too, Rose. You call if you need anything. Hear?”
    Laura Ann threw her arms around Pamela’s neck in a tight hug. “You’ve done so much already,” she said, and then took Pastor Culpeper’s extended hand in a long embrace.
    â€œShe’s serious,” Pastor Culpeper added. “We know you’ll find a way through this, Laura Ann. Let us help where we can.”
    â€œFalse hopes.” Preacher Armstrong’s voice broke the cold night air like smashing icicles. “Don’t be messin’ with God’s design, Laura Ann McGehee. No matter what Culpeper says, you listen to your uncle.”
    â€œGod’s design?” Pastor Culpeper shot back, turning away from Laura Ann. Pamela put a hand on his shoulder, but he moved forward to the yard gate, his eyes riveted on Laura Ann’s family preacher. “His design is that she trust Him for all her needs. That’s a message you might have shared at Angus’s grave today, Phillip.”
    â€œFalse hopes,” Preacher reiterated, pushing his wife into the backseat. “Face the facts, Culpeper. Angus is dead. That girl’s life on this farm is over. It’s time to move on.”
    Pastor Culpeper shook his head. “The word that comes to mind is
grace,
Phillip. Wouldn’t hurt you to show a little. Like now.”
    Preacher tarried at the rear door, shrugged, and then ducked into the car.
    In the silence of the tense moments that followed, Laura Ann watched her surly uncle kick frozen clods with his dress shoes where he stood in the drive beyond the fence. The frozen red-brown mud, a palette of country color, reminded herof earlier times this very day. Red clay, the soil of a fresh-dug grave, steaming in the bitter afternoon air at Preacher’s church in Alma. The brown of Daddy’s simple casket, lowered into the ground he’d loved so much.
    â€œDon’t mind them,” Auntie Rose pleaded, her eyes glistening. She reached out and laid a hand on Laura Ann’s forearm. “But I’m worried about you, sweetheart. Not for now — I mean, I know you have food and transportation for a while, but what about — “
    â€œThe bank?” Laura Ann interrupted.
    Auntie Rose nodded. A solid band of grey streaked the middle of the part through Auntie’s brown hair, one of those odd hygiene items that sent Uncle Jack into a rage. If he saw it, he’d drag her from the porch, berating her for “skunk stripes.” Laura Ann reached up and adjusted Auntie’s hat, pulling it down a bit in the front to save her a repeat embarrassment. Auntie Rose’s lips pursed in her look of submissive resignation, a silent “thank you.”
    â€œI have a backup.” Laura Ann pulled her aunt close, shielding her only blood relative against the bitter chill of Christmas Eve. “You’ll see,” she added in a whisper, lest Uncle Jack hear. “Pastor Culpeper’s right. God will provide.”
    Auntie Rose released Laura Ann’s hands and took her in a tight hug. She held on as if she’d never let go, perhaps struggling to hang on to the only home she’d ever loved. Laura Ann gripped her tight, watching Uncle Jack from over Rose’s