4

The Darby Trailer

Erlene Darby was just emerging from her car, sensible shoes incongruous with a too-revealing black waitress’s dress that matched her dyed hair.

“Hey, Ma.”

She whirled and swore. “Don’t do that, Brady! Like to scare me half to death.”

Have to be twice as loud next time, then.

Erlene nodded toward Aunt Lois’s car. “What’s she doing here?”

“Won’t say. Some news about Dad.”

“Hope it’s bad.”

“Likely is. She’s fixing to wake up Petey so we can all hear it together. You’re a little late. Later than usual.”

“I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”

Lois had apparently heard the car and was waiting at the door. She embraced Erlene tight.

“All right, all right, Lois. Let me sit down. Then out with it.”

“Nice to see you, too. I didn’t know you worked nights.”

“Well, if you’d called before just showing up, maybe I could have saved you some put-out.” Erlene dropped her sweater and purse and settled into the nearest chair. “What a day.”

“What’d you do, Erlene,” Lois said, “drink your dinner?”

Erlene flipped her an obscene gesture.

“No cause for that. I’m just asking.”

“Yeah, you’re just asking like you always do. I didn’t invite you here, and I don’t guess you want to stay long, so can we get on with this?”

Lois nodded at Brady. “Wake your brother, please.”

“Is that really necessary?” Erlene said.

“What, you’re worried about him now?” Lois said.

“Yeah, Ma. You weren’t worried about him wh—”

“Don’t start with me, either of you! You act like that kid’s a saint!”

“He’s eight years old!” Brady shouted. “How bad can he be?”

“Just get him, please,” Lois said.

His mother lit a cigarette as Brady moved down the hall.

“You shouldn’t be smoking inside with these kids here, Erlene,” Aunt Lois said.

“I’ll do what I please in my own house.”

“And your kids be hanged.”

“Brady smokes too.”

“But you know better.”

Peter came padding out wrapped in a blanket and squinting. Brady thought the little boy and his mother locked eyes, but both quickly looked away without even a greeting.

Erlene said, “All right, Lois, the gang’s all here.”

Brady’s aunt drew a quavery breath. “Kids, you know your dad hasn’t been well for a long time.”

“Your brother hasn’t been their dad for a long time either, Lois.”

Lois glared at her. “He’ll always be their dad.”

“You kidding me? Peter barely remembers Eddie, and Brady was Peter’s age when he left. And how many times you boys seen him since?”

Peter shrugged.

“Couple,” Brady said.

“And what’sa matter with him?” Peter said. “The d-thing?”

“Diabetes, yes,” Lois said. She pressed a hand to her mouth, then to her chest. “He’s never been good about taking care of himself and following doctors’ orders.”

“When he even went,” Erlene spat. “Like he can afford that. He wouldn’t have insulin except for welfare. And he only uses that to make up for eating whatever he wants.”

Lois held up a hand. “Eddie fell into a diabetic coma this morning and—”

“A what?” Peter said. “What’s that?”

“Just something that happens with that disease if you’re not careful. Anyway, he died this afternoon.”

“Died?” Erlene said, her voice thin.

Brady had half expected this, but it was clear his mother hadn’t. She stubbed out her cigarette, and he hoped she would leave it like that. It would be almost like having a whole one later.

He had long despised the man who had abandoned them, though he thought he might have left a wife like his mother too. And he resented that his dad hardly ever communicated with him or Peter. Still, Brady felt an emptiness deep in his gut.

Peter looked puzzled. “So I don’t have a dad anymore?”

“When did you ever?” Brady’s mother said, her voice still reedy and hollow. Brady figured even she had to feel this somewhere inside.

That his aunt had lost her brother suddenly hit Brady, and he said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Aunt Lois.”

“I hadn’t allowed myself to cry yet,” she said, tears flowing now. “Thank you, Brady. And I’m sorry for you all too.”

“Sorry for me, too, Lois?” Erlene said, her edge back.

“’Course I am. You loved him once.”

“That was a long time ago. I don’t guess there’s anything at all in the way of an estate.”

Lois narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Just debts.”

“And I guess that’s the end of my piece of his monthly check.”

Lois stood and grabbed her coat. “Honestly, Erlene, don’t you care that this is my brother we’re talking about, once your husband and the father of your children?”

“That never meant anything to him either, so spare me.”

“Eddie was a good boy once, Erlene, raised in the church.”

“Yeah, and now you’re going to tell me again how I ought to have these boys in church so they can, what, turn out like their father?”

“That’s enough, Ma!” Brady said. “Either thank Aunt Lois for coming all this way or shut up.”

“I oughta knock you silly, talking to me that way!”

“Oh, how I wish you’d try,” Brady said.

“Please!” Lois said, her hand on the door now. “I just thought you deserved to hear it in person, and I wanted to tell you the funeral will be Saturday.”

“Not in a million years,” Erlene said.

“Do what you want,” Lois said, “but I intend to come get the boys early that morning. You can ride along or not, but they ought to be at their own father’s funeral.”

Friday | Association of Rural Bible Churches

Thomas and Grace Carey held hands and beamed across the desk at ARBC Executive Director Jimmie Johnson.

“This is an answer to prayer,” Grace said. “A direct answer.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Johnson said. “Thomas, I’ve known of you and your work for years, and your references are exemplary. Let me show you just what we need and how this might work.”

He led them to a map on the wall of the adjoining conference room and pointed out five stick pins in an irregular circle that encompassed about 100 square miles. “We have a small work in each of these areas—the largest in Oldenburg comprising about ninety regular attendees; the smallest, right there in Colfax, down to about thirty now but with real potential. My thought is this: The larger work has its own building and even a parsonage, though I want to be frank. It’s old. It’s dilapidated. And it’s not much. But with the help of the congregation, I’m assured it can be made livable, and of course, it’s free.”

“We don’t require much,” Grace said.

“That would be your base of operations. From there I see you serving this and the other four churches. I know that’s spreading you mighty thin, and you’re going to have to be creative about scheduling a worship service for each church each week. Only one other of the congregations has its own building. Two others meet in homes and the fifth in a school.”

“Frankly,” Thomas said, “I’m eager to get started.”

Grace nodded. “He’s so good about meeting new people and getting them taught and motivated.”

“You understand you’re not going to get rich with this,” Mr. Johnson said, laughing. “Not one of these bodies can afford their own shepherd, so they know they’ll have to kick in and share. We can provide a small stipend, probably enough to cover your mileage is all, but you’ll have to work out with the individual congregations their share of your salary. We’ll help mediate if necessary, but that’s the best we can do.

“Now, would you like to pray about it?”

Thomas looked at Grace, wondering whether she would suggest they take a moment alone, maybe in the car. But she looked radiant, joyous. He could tell she truly believed this was of God, and he had a hard time doubting it himself. There was certainly nothing else on the horizon. Not one of the other churches he’d contacted had shown an iota of interest. And there was nothing he would rather do than invest his life in such work.

Thomas shrugged at her and cocked his head. She raised her brows and nodded.

“Sir,” he said, “we’re in.”

“That’s wonderful! Let’s go back to my office and turn on the speakerphone so I can inform someone at each church. And you can meet them by phone.”

Saturday | Lily of the Valley Church of the Holy Spirit

Brady wore a borrowed bolo tie and left his leather jacket in his aunt’s car. And he had found an old white shirt for Peter, though he seemed to swim in it. Even without a tie, he looked dressed up enough for Brady’s taste.

Brady felt the sea of eyes as he and his brother followed Aunt Lois and Uncle Carl to the front row. In some ways, this was just a bigger school bus, but open seats were waiting.

The boys had been in this church before, had even sat through a few Sunday school classes. Their uncle had pleaded with them to stay overnight and come again the next morning, but Brady had begged off. “I have to work tonight.”

Brady had never felt he really had a father. When his dad had lived with the family, he was worse than their mother was now. Brady had feared him, dreaded seeing him. And while it seemed strange when his father disappeared nearly eight years before, Brady was relieved. Sure, it was embarrassing when other kids talked about their dads and asked about his, and he learned from his mother to hate that his dad hardly ever contacted him, even on special days. But all in all, Brady Wayne Darby found life better without his dad in the picture.

So he was surprised that emotion eventually caught up with him when the funeral people wheeled in a plain casket and positioned it not six feet from him in front of the pulpit. They opened the lid, and the man who lay there looked gaunt and pale, as if he had aged thirty years since Brady had seen him.

Peter leaned over. “Is that Dad?”

Brady nodded.

“When did I see him last?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I think I was five. He rubbed my head, and I didn’t like it.”

Aunt Lois sat next to Brady, weeping loudly and dabbing her eyes through all the songs and the simple eulogy that mostly just told the dates and details of her brother’s life and death and surviving family. Brady was embarrassed when she threw an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

Brady found himself intrigued by the pastor’s message.

“One thing we don’t do in this church—never have and won’t start now—is pretend. I’m not going to try to persuade you that Edward Wayne Darby was a devout man of God. I’m not even going to try to tell you that anybody here knows for sure whether the man is in heaven.

“He had his good points and he had his bad, and for most of the years I knew him, he wanted nothing to do with this church or the faith. But I can tell you this: he knew better. He was raised here, was taught the Scriptures, and at one time claimed to know the Lord.

“Truth is, most of the rest of his life he didn’t act like it, so only he and God know if he was ever sincere about it and truly saved. It is appointed unto man once to die, and after that, the judgment. But to as many as received Him—that’s Jesus—to them He gave the power to become sons of God, even to them that believe on His name.

“Do you believe on His name today, beloved? Regardless who we are or where we stand with God, unless Jesus comes back first, Eddie Darby’s fate faces each one of us. . . .”