Read Online Homefires by Emily Sue Harvey - Free Book Online Page B

the time he read from the third book of Revelation, in verses fifteen and sixteen where John wrote to the Angel of the Church of the Laodiceans. His face was red as he paced, holding his bible aloft, and his deep voice raised the hair on my neck: “I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then, because thou art neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth!”
    He halted dramatically, pulling his handkerchief out and wiping his entire face while catching his breath. “Do you want God to spew you out of his mouth on that day?”

    I felt Kirk shift beside me and resettle stiffly as the altar call was issued. Mrs. Tilley, her round hefty bottom nearly hanging over the ends of the piano bench, played and led the congregation in Just As I Am for the invitational. Standing now, I glimpsed Kirk’s hands gripping the pew in front of us, his knuckles white as chalk.
    Why, he’s fighting conviction. The realization shot through me like a bullet. He’d been adamant about attending church, even if sporadically, but he’d never in his life had a conversion experience. Me, I’d absorbed it all along, from the age of five when I’d knelt at this same altar.
    The music ended. I heard, felt, Kirk’s relief that he was off the hook. For now.
    As we drove home, Kirk’s mood grew blacker. I tried to ignore the thickening air and overcast emotions.
    Ignoring Kirk’s darkness is like trying to walk through a hailstorm without blinking.
    Finally, I could stand the roiling silence no longer. “What’s wrong, Kirk?” I blurted.
    He was quiet for long moments. Then, angrily, “That’s it.”
    “What’s it ?”
    “I’ll not sit and listen to a preacher who preaches at me. Calling me a pew-warmer.” He huffed a grim laugh. “That entire message was aimed directly at me .”
    I stifled a giggle. What an ego , I thought, gazing at him in amazement, knowing the futility of trying to convince him otherwise. I faced the front and crossed my arms. Let him stew in his own juices.
    I knew what was coming next. He did not disappoint me.
    “I’ll never,” he snarled, “ ever darken the door of that church again.”

    We visited Dad and Anne that afternoon, to get out of the house. Kirk seemed especially restless. We’d spent our last two dollars Saturday afternoon on banana splits at the Dairy Queen so walking to see my family was all there was left to do. Lordy, those splits were good. Heather had smacked her lips ecstatically on the gooey rich treat and bawled when I said, “enough.”

    We all sat around in the den talking, while in the background, the television, a new nineteen-inch, played an old forties flick starring Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. The Sons of the Pioneers sang Tumbling Tumbleweeds and I spent a nostalgic moment listening, remembering singing that song around MawMaw’s piano as her little fingers flew over the keys, with Papa, Gabe, Daddy and Mama playing guitars and harmonizing….
    Then, Mama died. I gulped back melancholy and quickly pushed the thought away.
    “Where’s Trish?” I asked, gazing about, turning Heather loose to toddle around, dimpled fingers latched onto the furniture.
    “Cleaning out the storage closet,” Anne replied. “She was supposed to’ve done it last week and didn’t.”
    I remembered that Trish had been nearly down with a cold. “Wasn’t she sick?”
    “Not enough to stay home from school.” Anne replied a bit edgy. “Trish felt like doing everything she wanted to do.”
    I wondered what, exactly, Anne referred to but buttoned my lip. After all, I wasn’t around to know everything first hand. I hesitated to challenge Anne on disciplining Trish because, number one, she dealt fairly and lovingly with me. Number two, Trish said that would only make things worse for her. I still wondered at the where and why of the subtle cold war between those two.
    “Well, I guess I’m just an old transplanted Baptist,” Daddy’s