Read Online Angels by Reba White Williams - Free Book Online

ended.
    When it was over, Coleman looked puzzled. “They don’t do that duckin’ in water in the Methodist Church,” she said. “Do they do it in the Presbyterian Church, Miss Ida?”
    Ida shook her head. “No, I don’t think we ever did. But some churches still do.”
    “Why do they do it?”
    “Some people believe that Jesus wanted his children to go through that ceremony — immersion — to wash all his or her sins away. But other churches just sprinkle water on a person’s head to symbolize baptism,” Ida explained.
    Coleman seemed satisfied, but she looked serious. I wondered what she was thinking. I didn’t have long to wait for an answer.
    Before we had time to settle down after the sale, or to get used to watching TV, or got the sewing room organized, or anything we’d planned, we had an upset. Coleman had a disagreement with Clara Hatley, who runs the children’s choir at the Methodist Church. Coleman wanted to sing in the choir, and Clara turned her down—she said Coleman doesn’t sing well enough. Apparently Coleman had something to say about that, and Clara is coming over tomorrow to talk to Miss Ida. She says Coleman sassed her.
    I don’t like Clara—never have. She has the tongue of a viper and acts like she thinks she’s Queen Victoria—but if Coleman sassed her, Coleman will have to apologize, and I guess we’ll have to punish her. Drat Clara Hatley, anyway. Why couldn’t she have let the child sing? The Lord won’t mind if a child is a little off-key.
Dinah
    I kept my fingers crossed that Miss Ida would see Miss Hatley in the sittin’ room or the kitchen because the big chimney in the center of the house goes right through our room, and if Coleman and I go up there and stay real quiet, we can hear what they’re sayin’ downstairs. We can’t hear a word if they sit on the screened porch, which they might, ‘cause it’s so hot.
    When Miss Hatley rang the bell, I answered the door. She was wearin’ a dark blue church dress and a matchin’ hat. She must be real mad at Coleman, dressin’ up like that on a hot Tuesday mornin’. She has permed hair, and it stuck out funny-like under the hat, and she wears perfume that smells like Juicy Fruit chewin’ gum. We’re not allowed to chew gum—Miss Ida says it makes even the prettiest woman look like a cow chewin’ a cud—but I’d know that icky smell anywhere, because children at school chew it at recess, and in class, too, if they don’t get caught.
    Coleman told me she doesn’t know why Miss Hatley took against her. She promises she didn’t sass her. “I don’t like Miss Hatley, but I wouldn’t shame Miss Ida and Aunt Polly and you by talkin’ back to her,” she said. Nobody likes Miss Hatley. She’s mean as a ‘gator and has hissy fits over nothing. She looks like a duck that’s mad about something. She has a long neck and a big nose and beady little eyes. She even waddles instead of walking like a person. But if she was nice, nobody’d care how she looks. There’s people living around here, plain as can be, maybe even ugly, and people love ‘em, ‘cause they’re so nice. That’s what Aunt Polly means when she says “pretty is as pretty does.” I believe it, too.
    Miss Ida and Aunt Polly received her in the sitting room, not in the kitchen or on the porch, where they visit with friends, and they didn’t offer her anything but coffee or iced tea. If Miss Ida felt friendly toward her, she’d have served cake or cookies.
    Coleman and I listened hard, but Miss Hatley only repeated what she’d told Miss Ida on the phone: she said she’d told Coleman that she couldn’t sing well enough for the choir, and Coleman had talked back.
    “I’m surprised to hear that. Coleman is usually very polite. What exactly did Coleman say?” Miss Ida asked. She sounded sweet as pie, but I could tell she was annoyed.
    “I don’t recall her exact words, but she was very rude,” Miss Hatley said, snippy-like.
    We heard Miss Ida