Aunt Dora is a kind, warmhearted person and her three daughters are just like her. They'd been having picnics at the lake for years; this time though we were invited because Papa dropped us off on his way north.
Papa travels around the country in his bus, holding Tent Revivals. We'd been passing through his old hometown in Alabama and stopped to see his eldest sister, Dora.
Anyway, I was sure glad to take a break from all the traveling. I mean, staying on the road can get mighty tiresome. Of course, Papa always thought his calling to preach was more important than having a settled home so me and Beth were vagabonds too.
The day at the lake was great! At thirteen, I was just starting to notice boys and there was the cutest one I'd ever seen at the ticket booth. He was friendly too.
When me and Beth rented a paddleboat, he smiled and asked my name. I stammered a bit and regretted Papa wouldn't allow me to use makeup. I could swear the cute boy was looking directly at my freckled, pixie- face, which I wished wasn't so ordinary. Even my straight, waist-length hair could have used a bouncy cut; but Papa wouldn't let us cut our hair either.
In the afternoon, me and Beth rode the paddleboat around the lake. My cousins all cheered us on from the shore, laughing and teasing us about our energy. Even though Beth was a frail eight-year-old, she paddled a mean boat ride!
The day was just too good to be true -- peaceful and lazy, all of us relaxing and having fun after the big picnic lunch. But when we started cleaning up the table, Aunt Dora leaned over and asked, "Ruthie, where are you girls going to school this fall?"
I fumbled with a stack of paper plates, avoiding her questioning eyes. "Papa says we might not get to go again this year."
Aunt Dora snatched the plastic cloth off the table. "I declare, if that don't beat all! How many years are you girls behind now?"
I felt a hot flush of embarrassment. Although I had always wanted to attend school regularly, Papa insisted we should travel with him. I lowered my head, ashamed. "I missed some of last year and Beth would have to go back in second grade."
I heard my cousins gasp; they were in their twenties, married, settled with their own families.
Sue exclaimed, "That's rotten, just rotten!"
I was mortified and looked quickly at Beth; her face was pale and tense. I walked over to her, put my arm across her thin shoulders protectively. "Papa says our place is with him, and he has to travel around preaching."
Aunt Dora's eyes softened and she sighed wearily. "I know Timothy thinks he has to preach, but that doesn't give him the right to deprive you girls of an education. Why, it's against the law to keeps kids out of school!"
There was nothing I could say; I stood silently, torn between loyalty for Papa and knowing Aunt Dora was right. But I still had my pride and I said, "Papa loves us..."
Carefully folding the table cloth, Aunt Dora put it in her large wicker basket. "I'm sure he does love you girls, very much. Still, he's not living up to his responsibilities as a parent. You girls need to be in school."
Beth was searching my face for a clue to my feelings when I blurted out, "I want to be in school, but Papa just doesn't understand!"
Aunt Dora's face was compassionate, and she walked over, holding out her arms to me. "Honey, I know you girls are in a bad predicament. That's why I invited you today." She pulled away and her eyes brightened. "How would you two like to come live with Harvey and me?"
I was stunned. I'd always loved our visits with Aunt Dora and Uncle Harvey, but never dreamed of living with them. Her words made my heart ache, for I knew it could never happen. "Papa wouldn't let us do that, you know." I felt tears stinging my eyes.
Aunt Dora pulled Beth into her arms. "You children need a home, stability, schooling. I'm offering just that. I know Timothy might protest, but I'm prepared to fight him."
"Thank you," I murmured, "but our place is with Papa."
I saw Beth's eyes on me, knew she was sorry I'd said that; her face clouded, and she pulled away from Aunt Dora to hide the tears.
But the conversation ended there, and we all headed home. Me and Beth were to spend a few days with Aunt Dora until Papa returned from his northern trip.
On our drive to their place in the country, I thought back on my life. I had lived with several people over the years: First, there was my stepmother who spent most of her time working as a waitress. She'd tried to make a home for me, and it was better than traveling -- but then Beth was born. Her birth was premature, and for a long time she was kept in the hospital. Even when Beth came home, she was always so fragile; her health was like a brittle twig on the verge of snapping at any minute.
Well, the medical expenses were terrible and Papa didn't have enough money to pay off the bills. My stepmother had to really work hard from then on, which is probably what brought on the massive stroke that killed her. The doctors said it was high blood pressure, she'd not been taking the medication; Papa said doctors didn't know about the Lord's Will.
All I knew was that we lost our only home. Papa had always been traveling around the country, so he just made a detour through Birmingham (where we'd been living) and picked me and Beth up. That was when I was only ten.
Papa dropped us off at one of his friend's in Nashville, a down- and-out country music singer. Rainy was kindhearted, but she could get brash. Her slogan was "Redheaded, rowdy and ready!"
Anyway, me and Beth lived there for the next two years, going to school, but taking short trips with Papa when Rainy had gigs. One day though, Papa showed up out of the blue at Rainy's house, told us we were going with him. For good. He explained that we should be with him now that we were older.
When we hit the road, it seemed like the days were awfully long and lonesome. I guess the worst shock was when Papa made me and Beth start helping with the revival meetings; he made us stand at the tent entrance, told us to look 'sweet'. When people were seated inside, we had to carry small baskets and weave through the rows, while Papa appealed for contributions to his Ministry.
I really didn't understand it then, and with the passing of time and loss of schooling, I understood it even less. It somehow didn't seem fair to me; but then, he was our Papa, and we had no choice. Until now...
Uncle Harvey drove on into the August heatwaves shimmering on the paved highway, and soon he turned onto a dirt road, the overhanging treelimbs hovering along the narrow passage. I saw their neat white farmhouse as we rounded a curve, and it was a welcome sight. It was sort of like coming home...even though I'd only stayed there on visits. The front yard had big old oaks and willows, some dogwoods, lots of crepe myrtle and lilac bushes.
Beth squealed, "We're here!"
Aunt Dora smiled. "It's not much girls, but I've got an extra bedroom for you two."
I was grateful for her warmth and acceptance. "Thank you Aunt Dora."
"Don't mention it," Uncle Harvey said as he pulled into the driveway. "Our home is your home."
After me and Beth had put our stuff in the familiar small, cozy bedroom, we joined Aunt Dora out underneath a huge oak. She had lawn chairs and a table out there to sit and enjoy the cooler air.
As we sat in the afternoon breeze, I wondered about Papa and asked Aunt Dora, "What was Papa like as little boy?"
Her face lit up and she exclaimed, "Oh, he was a handful, that boy! Cantankerous and mean...not bad really, just mischievous."
She chuckled, remembering aloud, "He was always so energetic, always had to be the leader. When all of us kids got together, he'd demand we let him be the one to decide what we'd play or where we'd go..."
I watched her face and thought she resembled Papa -- the same dark, shining eyes, jet-black hair, wide forehead, high cheekbones. On Papa, those features had a fearsome, domineering look; but Aunt Dora's natural warmth softened the forbidding sharp-edged appearance.
She suddenly frowned, her eyes closing. "I don't know when the change came about. I never could tell exactly when he became so...so...I don't know what you call it. Some call it dedicated but I always thought it was more like fanatic in his case." She slumped in her chair. "You never knew him when he was real young, before his first divorce. When he and your mom first married, he was like a different man. They had a real nice home, he had a steady job, his life was normal. But then," she looked off out toward the open field behind the house, "he left the church, started claiming God was leading him to preach. Claimed he was a prophet, could lead people to God. He got so bad," her words came out low, pained, "that Annie had to divorce him to save her own sanity."
She looked at me, anguished. "Annie once told me he built an altar in their bedroom and made her pray at it. He preached at her day and night, no let up. Said he was determined to convert her to his beliefs. Annie was...she just couldn't take it no more. There was the divorce, then you were born."
I was listening real close, hoping to figure out something I couldn't understand about my parents. I'd never heard how Papa got the way he was now, and it was interesting to hear Aunt Dora talk about it. I prompted, "Was she happy with me, my mother?"
"Oh honey! Why, she was in heaven when you were born. Of course, we both thought your Papa would come around, settle down, get his old job back. He didn't though. But Annie was happy with you, loved you dearly. It was just that she..."
I stood, walked over to the creaky chain holding up a tire swing. "Just that she found someone else to love more."
"No, it wasn't like that, sugar. She did find a good man, loved him a lot -- but he was good to you and her. Everything would have been so different if...that car accident hadn't happened."
I heard her sigh deeply, and felt the old sadness in my heart. Yes, I had lost my mother and my Papa got sole custody...
That night, when me and Beth got ready for bed, Aunt Dora tapped on the door. "Can I come in girls?"
We let her in, and she stood looking around at our clothes piled on the bed; we'd unpacked the paper sacks we carried them in. She picked up a couple of dresses, staring hard at the threadbare clothing, her face pinched.
"Girls, I declare! This just won't do. My goodness, look at these clothes, not fit for a body to wear." She went through each pile, held up a worn pair of jeans with patches on the seat and knees. Shaking her head, she exclaimed, "When was the last time you got new clothes?"
I quickly glanced at Beth, her eyes betraying the sad truth. So I admitted, "Not for a long time. Papa says we don't need fancy things for Revivals. Those are the only jeans I've got, he makes me wear long dresses most of the time. Says he don't want us sashaying around in pants or shorts..."
Aunt Dora held up a hand. "I get the picture. Well, this just won't do. You two need new things for the school year."
I saw Beth's wide-eyed eagerness and watched her bite her lips to keep from grinning with expectation. I knew she wanted to accept the idea but I couldn't allow her to have false hope. "You know Papa won't allow it, Aunt Dora."
She gave a snort of disgust, turned to go. "We'll just see about that!" As she opened the door, she said, "Goodnight girls, and don't worry, everything will be fine, I promise."
When me and Beth had slipped under the thin sheet, we whispered our confidences. I said anxiously, "You know Papa won't let us stay, better not get your hopes up Beth."
She reached for my hand and I could feel her trembling. "I wanta stay here, Ruthie. I'm..." her voice caught, then went high-pitched, "scared cause of what happened last time. Those creepy guys nearly breaking in on us."
I huddled close and put my arm over her shoulder. "Beth listen, I know you're scared. I am too sometimes. But I know Papa loves us, he just don't understand the kind of danger we're in, or he thinks the Lord'll take care of us."
Beth shivered, and I pulled her closer. She cried, "It was awful! I don't care if Papa says the Lord's with us, I'm scared!"
I couldn't keep the tension out of my voice as I admitted, "It was pretty bad. If we hadn't found that old shed, locked ourselves inside, there's no telling what that gang of dopers would have done. I've seen that gang hanging around the Revivals, doped up, mean. Papa says he can convert the worst of the worst, but he just might lose us while he's saving souls."
Beth whimpered, "Maybe we should've told him how close those creeps got?"
"What's the use? He'd just say, 'The Lord will protect us.'" I sighed, deeply troubled but resigned to Papa's unchanging attitudes. Finally, I whispered, "Let's get some sleep sweetie. At least we can enjoy the time we're here."
Soon she was asleep, but I lay awake a long time, thinking. What would become of me and Beth? I loved Papa, and I knew we were his flesh- and-blood -- but deep in my heart, I was confused: Wasn't schooling, shelter and a stable homelife something we should have? Why did we have to live our lives traipsing all over the country in a dilapidated bus, practically begging people for money and fighting off dangerous weirdos at Tent Revivals?
At last, I decided these were problems far too big for me to understand, and slept as an escape from it all.
The next week I tried to stop the nagging worries over our situation, just enjoy the summer days. Aunt Dora was like a real mother, always encouraging us to be part of their everyday life. Uncle Harvey left every morning for his job as a janitor, and we had most of the day to ourselves.
We worked in the large vegetable garden in the early morning or late afternoon, hoeing or gathering vegetables. Near dusk, we'd all sit out under the big oak, shelling peas or stringing beans, talking.
Aunt Dora taught us how to prepare vegetables for her deluxe-sized chest freezer. It was work, but I didn't mind it; and Beth helped some, but usually Aunt Dora made her watch, just learn.
I saw how Beth started to thrive in this quiet, calm place -- the sunny, carefree days of fresh air, no stress or fear. She was usually so pale, reed thin...but with the huge meals we'd been getting, both of us began to look and feel healthy.
Uncle Harvey was a slow-spoken, gentle man; he'd challenge us to a game of horseshoes now and then. My cousins visited often, and we all shared easily -- I loved the casual way the whole family seemed to get along together.
But as the week came to an end, I began to get anxious. I knew Papa would be back for us over the weekend, and I hated to think about leaving. I dreaded dimming that happy light I'd seen shining in Beth's eyes, but I feared Papa would demand we go with him again.
Saturday morning I awoke to the dreaded sound of Papa's bus grinding to a halt outside the house. I got up, trying not to wake Beth, and pulled back the window curtain. The raggedy old bus was blocking my view of the oak tree -- and what a bus it was! No one could miss that ugly thing, a wild mixture of bright colors, flamboyant drawings, a motley assortment of stickers plastering it. Secretly, me and Beth called it, 'The Hulk', because of its grotesque appearance and size.
Originally, 'The Hulk' had been an outdated school bus. Then Papa got hold of it, made it into his 'Mission On Wheels'. The inside was even worse: burnt-orange shag carpet, filthy and smelly; cheap, warped paneling that divided the small sections of living space. Me and Beth had a cramped cubicle at the back, the main area being for Papa's so- called 'counseling'. We had a portable toilet for necessity only. No cooking area, Papa got free invitations from people or stopped at greasy spoon truckstops off the interstate.
I got back into bed, pulled the covers over my head. Beth's rhythmic breathing told me she was still asleep; why wake her to this bad news?
Then I heard Papa's loud rapping on the front door, his booming voice shouting, "Hey Dora, open up! The sun's shining and it's another great day, praise the Lord!"
I heard the muffled voices of my Aunt and Uncle down the hallway and then a door slammed, Aunt Dora calling, "I'm coming, Timothy."
It was no use trying to avoid the inevitable now, so I eased out of bed and grabbed my robe. As I slipped it on, I headed out the door.
Aunt Dora was saying, "Why Timothy, I declare, we didn't expect you back this soon.
I heard the familiar deep, gravelly laugh. "You know I can't be away from my girls too long."
Dead silence.
I hurried down the hallway, hoping to prevent a rowdy clash. All week Aunt Dora had been shaking her head at the tales we told of being on the road, and I knew she was at the boiling point by now.
Sure enough, the minute I stepped into the living room, I saw the grim set to her lips, the angry twitch of muscle in her clenched jaw.
I rushed over to Papa, hurled myself into his wide-spread arms. "Papa, we missed you!"
He embraced me in a bearlike hug, chuckling. "Well, well...how's my little dumplings? Missed your old Papa, did you?"
I had to force the denial down, answering instead, "Yes, we sure did." There was no choice really; I had to be supportive of Papa. He was, after all, my father -- and in spite of his unconventional lifestyle, I was his flesh-and-blood daughter. Mainly though, I just couldn't bear to cause a fight between him and Aunt Dora; they'd always gotten along before now.
I looked anxiously at Aunt Dora, saw a hint of hurt on her face. But she hid it quickly with a reluctant nod, saying, "Well, looks like you made it just in time for breakfast." She seemed to force a big smile. "What'll it be, flapjacks or eggs and grits?"
Papa grinned, bellowed, "Make it a heaping plate of eggs and grits, with some of those homemade biscuits, Dora. Never eat no biscuits like yours anywheres in the south."
She turned toward the kitchen, saying nothing.
Papa winked at me, then said, "The Lord sure blessed me when He gave me you and Beth."
I pulled away at last, went to the bedroom to get dressed. Beth was wide awake, and she whimpered, "Ruthie, is that Papa I hear?"
I sat down beside her, taking her small hands in mine. "Yes, it is. Sweetie, I know how you feel; I love being here with Aunt Dora too. But he's our Papa...we gotta all stay together, wherever he goes."
She looked at me so woefully, I couldn't be still. I jumped up, began searching for a long, old-fashioned dress to put on. Papa wouldn't allow me to wear the shorts or jeans Aunt Dora had bought me, so I figured I'd leave them behind.
I glanced at Beth's downcast face as she said reluctantly, "I guess you know best, Ruthie."
Oh, if only she knew how confused I was! I was torn, longing to let Aunt Dora take charge yet unable to betray the loyalty for our Papa. Shouldn't he have the only rights to us? And he did love us, I knew he did...
The entire day was spent listening to Papa tell about his victories over Satan. He loved to tell about the souls he saved, that he'd led to salvation during the past week.
We all sat around silently, tense and uneasy with the long, rambling stories Papa kept telling. I saw a nervous tic on Uncle Harvey's forehead when he was asked if he'd been saved. And Aunt Dora would tap her fingers on the table, a skeptical look in her dark eyes as she heard Papa's wild exhortations. But at least there was no fight between them, and I thought we might avoid it after all.
Late that afternoon, Papa sternly advised, "Girls, get your things. We got to make Nashville before midnight."
I saw Aunt Dora flinch, and Uncle Harvey was clenching and unclenching his fists.
Nervously I asked, "Nashville?"
"Sure dumpling. The Lord's work is never done. Got us a spot just outside the city where we can pitch the tent, help save souls." I felt the anguish making me sick to my stomach, but managed to say, "I'll get our clothes." I glanced at Beth's white face. "Come on, sweetie."
Wordlessly, she followed me down the hallway. Inside the bedroom, we began solemnly sorting through our clothing, putting aside the new things we'd been given. As I rolled down the top of a paper sack, I heard Beth sniffling.
I gathered her into my arms. "Don't cry, sweetie. It'll be okay." Just then I heard Aunt Dora's voice rising with anger, "It's not right, I tell you! Can't you see what you're doing to those girls?"
Papa thundered, "Dorrie, what's got into you? Those are MY girls, not yours..."
"No sir, they're not belonging to either of us. You're right, the Lord gave them as a gift but the way you're handling the gift is downright sinful!"
The front door slammed shut, and I figured Uncle Harvey had left. And who could blame him?
Beth reached for my hands, and we continued to listen... "Dorrie, that's enough. The Lord..."
"Humph! What do YOU know about the Lord? Why, the way you run around this country, footloose, begging for money, not a care in the world... You should go to a regular church, settle down and behave yourself. You always was a spoiled little brat, and we let you get away with it. But no more!"
Papa bellowed, "I don't have to stand here and listen to this hogwash!" His voice boomed loudly, "Girls, get out here. Now! We're leaving."
The front door slammed again, and I heard Aunt Dora's sudden, "Humph!" again.
I told Beth, "Come on, let's go."
As we crossed the living room, Aunt Dora said, "Girls, I hope you know I tried..."
I nodded, felt tears stinging my eyes. "Thank you but we..."
"I know you think you belong with your papa. And he does love you in his own way...but it's not the right way."
I swallowed hard, forcing back the tears. "We'll be in touch, come back sometimes to visit."
Beth ran into Aunt Dora's arms, crying, "I don't wanta go, I love it here!"
I looked away, but said, "Beth, come on. Papa's waiting."
"Girls, I know you have to go this time. But I'm not giving up, and if you need us, you call, hear?" She walked to the nearby phone, got a pad and wrote down her number again, gave it to me. "I mean it, we'll send you busfare or come get you, if necessary. Promise you'll call, if you need us?"
I took the paper. "Thank you. I promise."
Beth finally tore loose, her face streaked with tears. I hurt more for her than myself, and it didn't seem fair but...
Papa suddenly came through the door, his dark brows lowered, a scowl on his face. "Let's go girls. We got miles to cover."
Aunt Dora sighed, finally said, "If there's nothing I can do to stop you..."
Papa's face relaxed. "Don't be judging others Dorrie. Remember, judge not lest ye be judged. I love these girls, you know I do. And I have to follow the Lord's calling."
I felt the slightest stirring of anger then: What right did he have to ruin our lives? Didn't being a good parent mean more than simply owning children, forcing them to the parent's will, even when it was wrong?
Sure, he was our Papa, but did he ever stop and ask US what we wanted? What we needed? NO! I was mad suddenly, realizing he never let me and Beth have a say in anything; we were just 'possessions' to him, nothing more. Yet I went along with him then, unprotesting, because there was no choice, none at all.
We spent the next two weeks on the road, days and nights cramped inside the horrible bus, driving over the highways of the South. From one big city to the next; Tent Revivals held within a stone's throw of slums; on the outskirts of small towns; even once near a state prison!
I guess it would have gone on forever like that had Beth not began to grow weak, sickly. Her health had always concerned me, and when I noticed the feverish look on her face, I panicked.
We had camped on the edge of Montgomery, out in an open field. Papa was gearing up for a big campaign that night; he'd contacted a few past recruits -- ex-cons, ex-junkies and the likes to give their Testimonies.
Anyway, I went to Papa late that afternoon, told him how fearful, worried I was about Beth. "Papa" I pleaded, "can I take Beth to a doctor or clinic? She's sickly..."
"Sickly, how?" He stood looking down at me with a dark eyebrow raised skeptically.
"She's not eating, she's lost weight. Yesterday, she looked funny...all flushed, hot. I took her temperature, she's got a fever."
"You know how I feel about doctors."
"I do Papa. But I'm real worried..." I looked at him, suddenly seeing the real person he was, uncaring and indifferent. Surely he wouldn't forbid Beth to see a doctor, even though he'd preached that medical treatment was against his faith?
"Let's have a look at her," he demanded, firmly turning me toward the bus.
When we got to Beth, she was lying very still, almost eerily quiet on the lumpy bed. "Hi Papa..." she mumbled weakly, her eyes glazed and trying to focus on him.
Papa took her hand and knelt by her side. "Let's pray." And that's what he did, for over an hour!
Eventually, he stood, heaved a relieved sigh. "The Lord will take care of her now, He's heard our prayers." He bent low, touched Beth's blazing cheek, then stood, ready to leave us.
I was stunned, then outraged, but tried to speak evenly, "Does this mean I can't take her to a doctor?"
Papa looked out of the dirty bus window. "The Lord takes care of his own."
I gritted my teeth, holding my temper. "I hope so Papa."
As he strode off, confident I'd do his will as always, I bent down to Beth and whispered, "I'm going to get you some help. This has to stop, I'm sick of it. It was one thing to roam, have no home, but sickness is different, you're sick sweetie. And I'm gonna see you get a doctor...soon."
Her eyes widened, and I hugged her. "I'm going to call Aunt Dora."
And that's exactly what I did. It wasn't easy though, it never is. Not when an unfit parent stubbornly tries to hold onto their children, insisting on the rights to own them.
That night, I did call Aunt Dora; and she and Uncle Harvey came as soon as they could get there. We got Beth to a hospital; she had pneumonia, spent two weeks getting well. When she got better, we went to live with Aunt Dora.
Papa was furious, and started blaming Aunt Dora for 'stealing' his children; but she threatened to do legal battle with him, go to court and prove him unfit. And I thought it would come to that, but then we began learning how a few children had filed in court to divorce their parents, cut all ties to them...and I told Papa that is what I would do, if he didn't willingly let us live with Aunt Dora.
It was real hard, I don't mind telling you, to fight for mine and Beth's rights. But we did, and do, have rights now...thanks to some of the kids who've been through this before. I was confused sometimes, wondering if I was betraying my Papa. But I finally realized that Aunt Dora was right: love means being responsible, and I felt responsible for Beth's well-being. When she got so sick, and Papa wouldn't get her any help, that's when I knew he didn't love us in the right way, like a parent should. My love for Beth was stronger than my loyalty to Papa.
We're happier now, living with Aunt Dora. We still see Papa from time to time when he visits -- and maybe we can keep some kind of family feeling between us. At least as long as he respects our rights, and doesn't treat us like possessions.
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