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At first, Lonnie Johnson thought
Hooter and the boys were laughing at him, bunched up on the
other side of his feed store window, pointing and beating their
knees.
Lonnie blustered out the door
demanding an explanation.
All anybody could do was point at
the sign hanging in the window, which served as one of two
unofficial bulletin boards/marquees for Apache Flats.
The bright yellow poster board
was painted with spring colors and music notes: “This
Wednesday…The Inimitable Nelda Isselfrick…Will sin for
charity—one night only!”
Lonnie glanced at the sign. “So? She does every year.”
A new cascade of laughter.
“Not this, she doesn’t,”
sputtered Hooter, pointing to the innocent looking word, perfect
except for a single missing letter.
“Oh, grow up,” started Lonnie.
But even he had to chuckle. If there was one person in Apache
Flats who wouldn’t even say the word sin in public, it was Nelda
Isselfrick.
“I haven’t been to one of her annual cantatas for a while,”
chuckled Peetie. “I reckon we’d better mark it on the calendar
this year.”
Honking horn, flashing
headlights, Aunt Pinkie jerked her Lincoln to a sliding stop
beside the crowd and stuck her head out the window. Pointing at
the same sign she’d just seen at the post office—the town’s
other unofficial point of information—she roared, “I’m not
saying anything, but you will notice it’s the Baptist Church
sponsoring her.” And she was off in a cloud of dust.
Anyone who has known the blessing
and curse that goes with being part of the extended families
that are small communities and towns can appreciate Nelda’s
newfound plight.
Best Intention and Other Slips
The boys had barely poured cups of coffee to speculate on how
Nelda was taking the situation when Leonard Tonstull, the most
recent circuit riding preacher for Apache Flats First Baptist
Church gingerly opened the door, giving sideways glances to the
offending sign.
“Mr. Johnson, I um…I uhhh…”
“You can go ahead and say it,
preacher,” said Lonnie kindly. “We’ve already seen it. It’s no
big deal.”
“Well, as you can imagine, Sister
Isselfrick is beyond mortified. I am, too. I don’t know how we
could have made such a blatant mistake. If you don’t mind, I’ll
just take the sign down.”
“We can change the sign for you, just add the “g”, no problem,”
said Hooter.
“You’d get a better turnout if
you left it the way it is,” said Izzie, not trying to make a
joke. Then, “Oowwwwch!” Peetie had kicked him.
“I’m afraid Sister Isselfrick is
in an awful state, says she just wants to cancel the show. I’d
been looking forward to it, too, as I’m sure all of you have.”
Lots of grunts and shuffling.
“Can we at least keep it for our
collection?” said Hooter.
“I beg your pardon.”
“We’ll show you,” said Hooter,
motioning the young preacher toward Lonnie’s back room.
“Somewhere along the way, I think it started with Lonnie’s
daddy, we all started bringing in church bloopers and such when
we ran across them.”
“Reminds us of where to keep our
focus, without taking ourselves too serious,” said Lonnie.
Preacher Tonstull eyed the walls, which were papered with old
church bulletins, newspaper ads and handwritten notes.
“This is one of my favorites,”
said Hooter, pointing to a newspaper ad: Weight Watchers will
meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large
double door at the side entrance.
“The women all like this one,”
said Peetie, pointing to a yellowed bulletin: Ladies, don’t
forget the rummage sale. It’s a chance to get rid of those
things not worth keeping around the house. Don’t forget your
husbands.
“Yeah, they’re not so crazy about
this one,” said Hooter: The ladies of the Church have cast off
clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on
Friday afternoon.
Or this one: The men’s group will
meet at 6 pm. Steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, bread and
dessert will be served for a nominal feel.
Or even this one: Let us join
Bill and Eunice in the celebration of their wedding and bring
their happiness to a conclusion.
“But most everybody likes these,”
said Lonnie, pointing to an assortment on the north wall:
The Women’s League reported that Mrs. Springston, a grandmother
of five, made a hole in one last week. Good Shooting!
This Friday is our annual church
hayride. Bring a pack of hot dogs and guns. We’ll have a good
time.
The class on prophecy has been
cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances.
“So you see, that little sign of yours is nothing for you or
Nelda to worry about,” said Hooter.
“I don’t know that sister Isselfrick will see it that way,
exactly, but I do appreciate your understanding,” said the young
preacher.
Best as anyone could tell, no one
said another word about the signs…until Wednesday night.
Norvis LeRoy Underwood, a
schoolmate of Nelda’s who had tried unsuccessfully to court her
for more than a half century, showed up at her door, hair
greased back and wearing his best pair of overalls: “Been saving
my pennies, Miss Nelda, I come for the show.” |
