The Godsend of River Grove

Chapter 16 A Great Attitude

  Alan Borden had to produce a revival at the River Grove Church and he had to do it despite the fact that not a single River Grover over the age of eight was without a previous claim to salvation. Furthermore, although the River Grovers had persuaded a certain number of outsiders to attend the revival meetings, these too were nearly all professing Christians. Thus Brother Borden’s altar calls on Monday and Tuesday nights, though protracted, produced only a pitiful handful of repenters. But Alan Borden was full of resources from his wing-tip shoes to his high, swept-back hair style. By the third night he had adapted and was preaching mightily on the theme of God’s Blessings for Families. His altar call on Wednesday was little less than a command that families come forward together to pray and to strengthen their commitments, through God, to one another. So the altar area was full to overflowing, and everyone began to be satisfied that Brother Borden was doing a good job, though in calling for everyone to come forward in family groups, he had appeared unconscious that he was excluding nine or ten singles such as Evan and Jane.

  The Wednesday night success, however, was a problem in itself, as Brother Borden well knew. These revival weeks are supposed to build to a final-night climax, so if practically everyone in the church goes to the altar at mid-week, the last two nights are bound to be something of a let-down, as indeed they were. Further appeals to families—single-parent families Thursday and married couples Friday——produced a smaller but creditable response. The River Grove authorities, including Anna Ellen Grant, agreed that revival of a sort had occurred; and having finished his final week of guest speaking for that year, Brother Borden went home with his reputation intact.

  The inner core of hardest working River Grovers rested on Saturday, their true Sabbath, and then charged into delayed Christmas preparations, both personal and congregational.

  Over that weekend, Hila Grant heard that Ollie would probably be released from the hospital on Tuesday, December fifth, two days hence. In the meantime, something about her brief encounter with Betty Fulborne at the hospital had convinced her that she ought to speak to the older woman. Perhaps it was that Betty’s indignation had been too perfect, almost like that of an actress. Hila had a suspicion that Betty had been playing to the Favers and that she really knew all about Ollie’s perversion. How could she not know?

  On Monday night she drove to the Fulborne residence and found Betty burdened with shopping bags and approaching her own front door. When Hila left her car to follow her, Betty turned around as slowly as a ship in harbor.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said matter-of-factly, and putting down her bags near the door, reached into her purse for a key.

  Hila picked up two of the bags by their looped plastic handles. “Let me help you with these. I’d like to come in to talk with you if I may.”

  Betty looked very tired. “Go around to the back,” she said stiffly. “No, put them down and go to the back door. What, do you think I’m going to have people say they saw you coming in? Get in your car and drive around to the alley.”

  Since this was not a total rebuff, Hila did as she was told. She parked in the alley, made her way around an old garage, and entered an enclosed back porch. There she could just see Betty standing inside the storm door that led into the house proper and holding it open a few inches. The older woman had opened the main door from inside but now made no move to let Hila in, nor did she turn on the porch light. They were almost invisible to one another.

  “Betty, I know I shouldn’t be bothering you; I know you’re having a rough time now,” Hila began tentatively.

  “I’m managing. It’s better when he’s out of the house.”

  This sudden honesty led Hila to revise her approach. “Yes, I see. He’s not that easy to live with?”

  Betty snorted.

  “I expect you’ll slam the door in my face,” Hila said (calculating that Betty would refuse to do anything that was expected of her), “but I must tell you that I think you know it’s true about Ollie. You’re a perceptive woman; you know he bothers the young girls.” Somewhere down the block a car door slammed. Hila could hear Betty’s breathing. “But I’ll say this for him, I think something snapped in him fairly recently. I think his pattern of harassment only started about two and a half years ago.”

  “And what sort of woman am I to accept a man like that?” Betty said abruptly. “If you only knew. I come from a bad family. You don’t know what that’s like, you never experienced it. Never any money. Clothes from charity. My Dad…” The sentence hung broken off for fully half a minute. “…he used to beat my mother. He did wrong things to me when I got old enough, and I went along with it because I was scared. I thought he’d kill me or kick me out on the street if I didn’t. I married Ollie at seventeen just to get out of that house and have someplace to live. Oh, I guess I liked him some too. And he’s never laid a hand on me, never.”

  “Then it’s been all right for you,” Hila said, knowing Betty’s argumentative nature would not allow such a statement to stand.

  “No, it hasn’t been all right. He lost interest in me a long time ago. And then this thing with the girls.”

  “How far back does that go?”

  Betty snorted again. “Before you were born.”

  Hila mentally dumped her theory about Dawn Vortgern’s influence. The author of The Deeper Things of God may have inspired Ollie’s latest round of harassment, that was all.

  “And he knew you knew?”

  “He used to come to me and confess. I used to forgive him too. That was many years ago. We don’t talk about it anymore.”

  Hila was down to one question left. “Why are you telling me?”

  “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.” The dark figure behind the door shifted position. “Sometimes I’ve got to talk to someone or die. But if you try to speak to me about this tomorrow, or ever again, I won’t know what you’re talking about, and I’ll call you a filthy liar.”

  “I guessed that.”

  “You don’t know how good you’ve got it.”

  Hila ventured something different. “Is Jesus a comfort to you?”

  “Jesus is a word in a book,” she said flatly. “He’s never saved me.”

  Hila felt that Betty was descending into theatrics. It could hardly be true that she had no belief at all.

  “He saved me from suicide a few weeks ago,” she said.

  “Is that so? Then I guess you’ve got something to live for. You can go now.”

  “All right. And Betty, if you’ve got to talk-or-die again, you can give me a call.”

  Betty slowly stepped back and closed the inner door. Hila found her way off the porch and back to her car.

  Smoothing back a fold of her long, full skirt, Hila accepted a cup of strong tea from a small and furry servant, and returned her full attention to the Lady Amelia. While holding her own tea cup high over her silk-clad lap, the mouse was regarding her with a large brown eye.

  “So you see that you have nothing to fear from my brother,” Hila said, “and he won’t ever trouble you again.”

  “You mean,” squeaked Amelia, “that you and your brother can appear to us any time, but that you won’t?”

  “So we swear. It was ungentlemanly for Bill to have disturbed your people, and he repents of it. It’s as I’ve said, we have a magic window to observe your world, but we must never use it as a door.”

  “And what of your brother’s claim that you two are our creators?” said the mouse. “Or have I got that right?” Her tail switched a little under her skirt.

  “We are all created ultimately by God,” Hila answered. “Beyond that, milady, would you be so kind as to ignore my brother’s claim? Whatever is the relationship between our world and yours, be sure that we are no better people than you are. Also, a certain amount of mystery cloaking people like Bill and me is for the best. Will you allow me to say n
o more?”

  Amelia nodded her head in gentle acquiescence. “You may preserve your mystery, Lady Hila. I will tell Sir Miff, and he will announce to all that you and your brother are withdrawing from us, that you are harmless, and that no one is to inquire further about you.”

  “I could ask no more if you were my sister,” Hila said happily. “I’ve always loved you, Amelia.” She put down her tea cup. “I must go now forever. But I would not wish to disappear before your eyes. May I use your side room?”

  Amelia gestured with a paw toward the door. “You are most polite. And Lady Hila?”

  “Yes?”

  “You may come and visit me again I think. Perhaps you will come to my wedding?”

  Author of this scene though she was, Hila had not seen this coming. “Why, that’s exceptionally gracious. I don’t know if it would be proper for me to do so, but I will remember your invitation.”

  Hila went into the other room, closed the door, and disappeared.

  She put down the pen and looked up at Bill.

  “Will that do? It worked out better than I expected.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” Bill said petulantly. “But I notice you managed to get an invitation back for just yourself. Don’t think I didn’t see how you underlined ‘you’ when she said you could come and visit. Like ‘you and not your brother.’”

  “Well, how did I know she would say that? It just came out. She likes me.”

  “And nobody in Bafilia likes me. Oh well, at least we can go back to normal Baffling now. But I guess you’ll be going back to Indianapolis after Christmas.”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve been e-mailing back and forth with Cora, and I might just stay here and live with her and Eddie. She thinks being with her would help me stay out of trouble.”

  “Oh yeah, and who’s going to keep big mouth Cora out of trouble? But that would be great if you stay. You think you can find another job here? Of course, you can. You know how to snow them in an interview.”

  “And they’re predicting blizzards this winter,” said Hila.

  Illustrations of the adventures in Bafilia were always copious, and the Grant siblings had run out of black ink. This was particularly annoying because Hila had ready a pencil drawing of herself seated at high tea with Lady Amelia that only wanted ink in order to be splendid. So shortly before Christmas she drove through deep snow to the art supply store where Richard Ozark worked and found him restocking the newsprint sketchpads. He was delighted to see her, though nervous, and congratulated her on her decision to remain in Viola. He even went so far as to suggest that she might work at his store, but she demurred—and asked him to fetch two bottles of Higgins black and three fine-line nibs.

  “I’ll just be a moment—huh!” he said as he left her.

  While she waited Hila was approached by a red-headed man who she recognized as Evan Marklestan’s brother. She had not seen him in months and mentally scrambled for his name.

  “How are you, Hila?” he said. “I just came by to see Richard about some books he’s buying from me and I saw you talking to him.”

  “Yes, how is the bookstore in Bloomington—Arnie? Lots of Christmas sales?”

  “Not bad. And don’t you look cheerier than when I saw you in September! You’re a much happier person, I can tell just by looking at you.”

  “I am?” Hila was somewhat unconscious of what a nervous, grim, and unkempt figure she had cut a few months earlier.

  “Yes, you look like you got out of prison or something. River Grove was not the place for you.”

  “The question is whether it’s the place for anybody.”

  “Well, that’s as it may be. I think all they need is a little leadership. That elder board can’t seem to do anything without worrying about what people think. If old Fulborne isn’t well enough to take control again when he gets over his operation, I’m afraid that church is going to drift. You can’t let outsiders dominate your agenda, but I’m afraid that’s what’s happening.”

  “What outsiders?” Hila asked.

  “Oh, that big Charismatic church they just built on the same side of town, for one thing, and then there’s people, both inside and outside, who don’t like Ollie.”

  “Like me.”

  “Well, yes, you for one.”

  “But Arnie, I don’t care what they do. Nowadays, I don’t even know what they do.”

  “Didn’t you tell off Betty Fulborne at the hospital?”

  “Oh, she’s so touchy and proud and such an exaggerator that, if I just corrected her on a point of fact, she’d call it ‘telling off’ and feel persecuted. Those people need to get a life.” Arnie had no reply to this. “How are Evan and Kathy?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “Engaged?”

  “Well…”

  “Say no more. Just congratulate them for me.”

  “It’s only just been decided,” he added in an apologetic tone.

  Richard Ozark returned with Hila’s supplies, and she said goodby to Arnie and started toward a cash register with Richard. Arnie stood by while she completed her transaction.

  “Remind them that I’m invited to the wedding,” she said, looking back on her way out.

  “I will. And you stay cheerful.”

  “I will, thanks. Sell lots of books.”

  After she had left, Arnie spoke to Richard. “She’s a little odd,” he said. “She can’t seem to settle down to anything, whether it’s a job or a boyfriend or a church. And even though she’s so pretty and smooth talking, she says something and you suddenly realize that she’s got this really bad attitude. Evan was right to pass her by.”

  Richard’s face grew red. “Don’t talk like that about her. She’s got a great attitude. You just don’t understand her. Someday people are going to realize that she was right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “Right that our church is kind of messed up. Nobody wants to admit it, but we sure need something. Without people like Hila, there’d never be a word said. Somebody’s got to say something—huh!”

  “OK, Richard, no offense. I like her OK.”

  “Well, you should. No offense.”