Read Online My Name Is River by Wendy Dunham - Free Book Online

exactly ten twenty-five Sunday morning, the Whippoorwills’ big white van (which is the size of a bus) pulls in our driveway. Gram and I hurry out the door (well, I hurry and Gram waddles).
    Pastor Henry rolls down his window to greet us, so I introduce Gram. “Gram, this is Pastor Henry. Pastor Henry, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Nuthatch.” And to her surprise, I do it so eloquently that she freezes, speechless (and Gram is never speechless). Then she shakes her head and whispers, “Well, I’ll be!”
    Next thing I know, Billy jumps out, opens the van door for us, and pulls it shut once we’re in (the whole while his right arm is swinging back and forth like a pendulum). I forgot to tell Gram about his arm. I wonder if she noticed.
    As Gram and I squish together in the second row of seats, we’re instantly surrounded by a flock of little Whippoorwills. Every one of them wants to sit on Gram’s lap, and she makes sure each one does (I bet Mrs. Whippoorwill already likes Gram).

    Pastor Henry’s church feels real comfortable, like a bathtub filled with warm sudsy water. And no one’s dressed up fancy. Most of the men are wearing jeans, and hardly any of the ladies arewearing dresses. But Gram and Mrs. Whippoorwill are. I’m wearing a skirt (only because Gram made me). It used to be a maxi and reached all the way to my toes. But since I’ve had it for three years or more, it’s directly at my knees. I hate wearing it, but Gram says I’m a young lady now and need to start looking like one. The only good thing about this skirt is that it’s made of denim (which is as close to a pair of jeans as Gram would let me get).
    Everybody must know everybody in Pastor Henry’s church because everybody’s giving hugs to everybody else. All the little kids are running around playing and hiding from each other, and the older ones are huddled in a group talking. Billy and I decide to sit with the grown-ups. Mrs. Whippoorwill pours Gram a cup of coffee, and then Gram lets me drink some just like she does at home.
    Pastor Henry’s church smells delicious because at the same table that has the coffeepot, there are seven very big boxes of donuts. There are all kinds—cream-filled, jelly-filled, cinnamon swirls, glazed, sugar-coated, and fried cakes (which are my favorite). And hanging right above that table is a huge picture of Jesus standing all by himself, wearing a pair of sandals and a long, white thing that looks something like a bathrobe (but not exactly). He’s holding his arms stretched out wide in front of him, so it actually looks like he’s guarding the donuts. Maybe Pastor Henry hung the picture there on purpose so no one takes more than they should, which is pretty smart. I don’t think anyone would have the guts to take more donuts than they should if Jesus is watching. I decide to take one fried cake covered with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles (I hope that’s okay with Jesus).
    Gram and I are meeting everyone in Birdsong this morning because Billy says this is what everyone in Birdsong does on Sunday mornings. They come to hang with Pastor Henry and have free coffee and donuts.
    Pretty soon the piano lady begins playing, and everyone moseys into the big part of the church, where there are beautiful stained glass windows. One of them is boarded up. Billy said someone threw a rock through it (which means Birdsong has at least one bad person). All of a sudden, I imagine Robert Killdeer holding his fishing pole in one hand, and instead of his beat-up tackle box in the other, he’s gripping a rock. I never met anyone who gave me the creeps like he does.
    Gram and I sit beside all the Whippoorwills, except for Pastor Henry, of course. He gets to stand on the stage so everyone can see him. I wonder if God can see him too.
    The benches we’re sitting on are in rows, and they’re made of wood. But at least they have red