Read Online Ghost Girl by Delia Ray - Free Book Online Page A

nearest one was over in Dark Hollow, near eight miles away, with no heat and a leaky roof to boot. So most folks chose to squeeze into the Jessup cabin on Sundays, where Mr. Jessup preached his long, rambling sermons standing on an old kindling box at one end of his front room. Now that their daddy would be helping Miss Vest with worship services at the schoolhouse, Dewey and Ida looked around the classroom grinning and nodding as if the whole thing had been their idea.
    I was about the only one who didn’t cheer over Miss Vest’s announcement. I felt sorry for Miss Vest, having to teach us our letters and numbers and now the Bible, too. I couldn’t help worrying over how hard she seemed to be working. After school let out every day, she sat right down at her desk and bent over her lesson book with her face feverish and her ink pen flying. One night I had supper at Aunt Birdy’s and took the long way home, just to check, and sure enough, there she was, lit up in the schoolroom window, still sitting at her desk and rubbing her tired eyes.
    I didn’t even bother to ask Mama if we could go to the Sunday prayer meetings. We hadn’t been to church since Riley died. Used to be, we’d all ride in the wagon to go to meetings in Dark Hollow. Once in a while, if the weather was too bad to make it that far, we’d crowd into the Jessup cabin with all the other neighbors. I knew Mama despised those mornings as much as I did. Most of the time, we got stuck sitting back in the sweltering kitchen next to the cookstove, listening to Mr. Jessup rant and rave for an hour or more. We always came home smelling like cabbage or collards or whatever had been bubbling on the burner next to us.
    Mr. Jessup wasn’t an official preacher anyway. During the week he worked at the sawmill over at Thornton Gap, heaving logs onto the conveyor belt. But on Sundays, he put on his black suit and combed his thick hair back with pomade and turned into someone else. Aunt Birdy said he had learned to preach from traveling men who wandered around the Blue Ridge holding tent meetings and revivals. She said his sermons were hand-me-downs, but even so, Mama and Daddy thought it was important for us to learn the Gospel, so Riley and I went along without complaining.
    Then the accident happened and Mama never said another word about going to church. Whenever Aunt Birdy invited us to join her, Mama just shook her head and found a way to change the subject. Daddy didn’t try to persuade her otherwise.
    So you could have pushed me over with a broom straw one rainy Sunday morning when Mama said after breakfast, “You better get dressed, April. We’re going down to the meeting at the schoolhouse.”
    â€œIs Daddy coming, too?” I asked. I figured going to church must have been his idea. He had been away all week, helping to fence pastures for a cattle farmer down the mountain. Maybe since it was Sunday, he’d be joining us at the schoolhouse.
    But Mama shook her head. “No. It’s just us going. Daddy won’t be back till tomorrow.”
    I decided not to ask why we were going. I ran to put on my best dress before Mama could change her mind. My insides were so full of butterflies, I could barely hook up the buttons.
Mama was coming to school.
Finally, she’d get to see how fine everything was—the shelf full of
National Geographic
and
Child Life
magazines, and the world globe that could spin around, and the jars full of rulers and scissors and paintbrushes. Miss Vest had told us that after each Sunday meeting she was planning to serve coffee and hot cocoa. Maybe she’d pick me to add the marshmallows to the cocoa again, and I could serve a cup to Mama.
    We didn’t bother hitching up Old Dean for the trip over to the schoolhouse. The rain was pounding on the roof like hooves, splattering down to make muddy rivers in the yard. Mama found an old green slicker and I held a shawl over my head, and